


Casino Royale

by TheBellViper



Series: 00fuck-up Strikes Again [1]
Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: And also a badass, Break breaks things, Drug Use, Everything you can spend money on, Gambling, Gratuitous Fanservice Outfits, Guns, Haiti, Happy Ending, Human Trafficking, James Bond AU, Knives, Liam is a Bond Girl, Lots of pairings, M/M, Modern AU, Monte Carlo, Organized Crime, Oz No, Oz YES, Part One of Ongoing Series, Past Child Abuse, Ridiculous Amounts of Money, alcohol use, and makes a scene, cold hearted sluts, everywhere he goes, obnoxiously over-priced hamburgers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:45:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 89,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4558206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBellViper/pseuds/TheBellViper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recently appointed 007 agent Xerxes Break has received his first mission: the apprehension of an international drug lord at his base of operations in Haiti. The mission should have been simple, but in a single twist of fate Break will find himself entangled in a lurid world of espionage and deception, and a plot that goes far deeper than he ever imagined.<br/>(Part 1 of 4 in series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy there, readers! Welcome to the magical, tragical, beautiful, horrible brainchild known as the James Bond Modern AU, featuring all of your favorite characters from the glorious gift to the universe known as Pandora Hearts. Before you make the commitment to digging yourself into this hole, there are a few things you should know. Firstly, while there are a lot of pairings in this series, they are by no means the focal point of the story. If you don't hard-core ship (unlike myself, who is the king of shipper trash) then you will definitely still be able to enjoy the series. That said, the final pairings are the ones listed in the tags, and anything else that happens is temporary. Secondly, trigger warnings. This AU is 100% fun until it's 100% not. Some of the characters have pretty intense abuse in their backstories, including sexual abuse. It's not a focal point at this point of the story, but it should be noted that I will be going into more detail on this in future installments in the series. If there is explicit sexual detail of any kind, I will post a note at the beginning of the individual chapter. Since the AU focuses on a James Bond-like setting, there's also a fair amount of violence depicted, both against random OCs like gunmen and shit and against major characters. I ASSURE YOU NOW that ONLY antagonists will die in this story, and believe me when I say you're going to WANT them dead by the time I get there. Horrible things happen to all of the main characters, but there will be NO MAIN CHARACTER DEATH. I can also make you all the same promise I made my little sister when I started writing this (spot her reviews, I'm sure she'll be one of the ones screaming at me the hardest for the shit I pull): there will be a happy ending. No permanent physical maiming. All the pairings get fixed. All the individuals get fixed. The last line of the last story in this series will be "And they smiled." And they will. I promise. There will be lots of bullshit along the way, but in the end your favorite characters will skip off into the sunset all happy-like.

The image we open on is this one:

 

Sunlight played in harsh gasps on the lively blue water, and curling mirages of heat rose from the docks surrounding Port au Prince, Haiti. A nipping sea breeze danced poetic time with the sails of the ships crowding into the harbor, and a harsh, mixed clamor of English, Creole, French, and Spanish reverberated through the parched midday air.

The harbor was playing host to two or three massive cruise ships, and the throngs of tanned and sunburnt tourists that spilled from them were mixed thickly with the local fishermen. The mid-December day was a breeding ground for tension, dark-skinned locals, photo-crazed sightseers, and sun-kissed European expatriates sweating together along the length of the main pier that pointed like a dark finger out towards the horizon.

Through this throng and clutter strode Xerxes Break.

He walked the pier with a certain confident lilt in his step, one hand in the pocket of his well-tailored khakis and the other crooked nimbly around the top of a long, elegant cane. The unbuttoned cotton shirt he wore tangles loosely behind him in the breeze, its lavender furls playing gently with Break’s pale skin and white hair. His thin lips were tilted up in a casual half-smile, while the dark mystery of his eyes was cached away behind large aviator sunglasses. To the hundreds of locals and tourists flooding the Haitian pier, his aloof and coy demeanor was nothing out of the ordinary. He was the picture of a wealthy young expatriate. The one spot of cool in the sweltering day.

But it was a façade. Break’s calm expression concealed something much different: danger.

He dodged easily through the crowd, smiling casually at those who gave him anything more than a cursory glance and declining the advances of street merchants with polite waves. Break’s eyes slipped undeterred over intricately beaded jewelry, fresh fish, and kitschy souvenirs. Though the port was just the type of distracted canvas where he would normally lose himself for hours, today Break’s focus was sharp and unshakable. His arrival in Haiti marked the start of his first mission as 007, and he was not about to fuck it up.

The high-profile mission wasn’t the type usually handed to newcomers of low rank. But in this circumstance, the anonymity of Break’s new position was essential. In a recent and catastrophic failure of their security systems, M16’s main intelligence server – previously known as the most secure server on earth – was hacked and the identities of all but the highest-ranking agents compromised. It was a retaliatory strike, incited by M16’s recent focus on and systematic attempt to mitigate and destroy the sale of illegal drugs in South America and the Caribbean. A retaliatory strike carried out by none other than Break’s current target, one of the most dangerous and fearsomely intelligent people on the planet.

He was a man known to much of the world as the young heir to the world’s largest oil conglomerate, and one of the most successful and ingenious tech developers of the modern age. At age 12, he’d developed the interface for what would become the world’s first smartphone, at age 15 his interest in medical technology led to him aiding in the creation of robotically controlled prosthetic limbs that virtually negated their users’ disabilities. And now, at age 17, his interests were entirely dedicated to deep space exploration and the search for extraterrestrial life. He was a symbol of genius and cocky confidence, always giving the media a show with his self-proclaimed “allergy to commitment” and the string of gorgeous young models and singers that came along with it. His love of the spotlight, and the fierce independence with which he lived his life, had pushed him into becoming the type of wealthy, impossibly intelligent man for whom the whole world was a playground.

But, like his pursuer, Break’s target was not what he seemed. Beneath his daring and expensive wardrobe, his good looks, and his quick wit hid one of the most notoriously cruel and ruthlessly cunning black-market magnates on earth. When he was 13 years old, his takeover of the international drug trade had begun in Amsterdam, and from there spiraled and grown unrealistically quickly. His aptitude for manipulation and willingness to employ violence catapulted him into a position of indisputable power in that seedy underground world. Now he ruled a massive network of underground drug rings throughout Europe, Asia, The Caribbean, and South America with an iron fist and an uncompromising intolerance for failure. And though both international law enforcement and rival drug dealers had attempted it, it seemed he was immune to capture and gifted at anonymity. Countless agents and thugs had been sent after him, and countless bodies had never been recovered. And the sunny, smiling young billionaire’s dark empire had only continued to grow. Most agencies and dealers had learned to give he and his businesses a wide berth.

But things in Haiti had gotten out of hand. Tourists had begun going missing far more frequently than usual, and whispers of a new drug developed by laboratories in South America had begun to permeate the seedier parts of the Internet and the streets of almost every major city on earth. And concern was growing that this meant more sinister forces may be at work in that part of the world, forces involved in much darker aspects of the black market, like human trafficking and sex slavery. Break’s first mission as 007 was meant to put a stop to this. His orders had been simple enough: Capture and apprehend the boss of Haiti’s largest drug ring. At any cost.

Break pulled a small notebook from his back pocket as he walked and began to thumb through it. Pictures of his targed from magazines and newspapers were stuck to some of its pages, accompanied by Break’s handwritten notes on his movements and actions for the past six weeks. As he glanced up from his book, something caught Break’s eye and he paused in his strolling. A coy smile spread on his face as he glanced between a picture in the notebook and something across the docks. His heart leaped in nervous excitement and he closed the notebook. He squeezed on the switchblade clenched in his hand inside his pocket, trying to reassure himself as he drifted out of the mad parade of tourists crowding the middle of the pier.

He cast around quickly as he changed his course, stopping to consider the wares of a merchant dealing in hand-dyed silks. She began to babble to him in heavily accented English, presenting a length of purple fabric for him to inspect. Break took it mildly, feigning interest while keeping his eyes trained on something – someone – across the docks. He allowed himself a steadying breath and a small nod. _Tall, black hair, yellow eyes…he’s even smoking a fucking cigarette. It has to be him…_ he thought excitedly.

The shirtless man was leaning back against the dock’s railing, his face relaxed and his eyes scanning the crowd with cool disinterest. He was tall and muscular, and something about his demeanor suggested lethality. The wind tangled through his curly black hair, tossing it behind him as he turned into the wind and looked down at the glistering blue water below. Break shrunk deeper into the merchant’s stall as the man’s attention snapped back to the pier. His eyes landed on something and he tilted his head to one side. The look in his eyes was one of cold calculation and carried the air of a blatant threat. He took a last long drag from his cigarette, then tossed the butt onto the docks and crushed it beneath his heel. Then he pushed himself off the dock’s railing and started through the crowd. Break set down the purple fabric and watched the man with blatant interest. Fear and nervous admiration rose up in Break as the man passed. _Has to be him,_ he thought. A set of detailed tattoos in the visage of a pair of dark and impossibly realistic wings covered the stranger’s well-muscled back, their feathers stretching all the way down his upper arms. The way they were positioned, every movement of the man’s arms or spine sets them rippling, as though he were in flight.

“Raven,” Break whispered.

“You buying?” the merchant asked impatiently. Her heavily accented voice snapped Break’s attention back to the stall.

“Non, Madame, mais merci,” Break replied in perfect French. He gave the merchant a smooth smile, and some of the chilliness dissolved from her face. “Bon journee,” he said politely.

As soon as he turned from the stall, the polite grace with which he’d held himself dissolved. As he set off through the crowd, allowing its tumble and thrall to envelop him, his steps shifted to become longer and more dance-like and he shifted his grip on the head of his cane. He was taking no chances. Not when it came to Raven, his target’s one and only bodyguard and incontestably one of the most dangerous men on earth.

Raven’s pace through the crowd was quick and confident, and he cut through the throng with the ease of a ghost. Break followed, silent and efficient, opening his notebook once more and tugging a pen from its margins. He scrawled a few sloppy sentences, his eyes continually flicking back to Raven so as not to lose him.

_Must have a boat here, Raven came from the pier. Looking for something. Possibility that rival boss operating in Haiti. Maybe explains missing tourists?_

The noise and throng of the docks began to fade as Break followed Raven off the coast and into the city proper. The afternoon was stifling, the sprawling clay buildings and dirty streets reflecting the sun and trapping the whole island under a shimmering sear of heat. The atmosphere shifted immediately and perceptibly as they left the ocean behind. The air took on a new, choking heaviness as Raven turned down a side street lined with small, dingy storefronts.

Break ducked beneath the awning of a restaurant as Raven turned over his shoulder to scan the area behind him. The shade provided momentary relief from the sun’s beating heat, but not from the powerful burn in Raven’s stern gold eyes as they raked over the street. Break swallowed nervously, and tapped the base of his cane compulsively on the concrete at his feet. The storm of Raven’s suspicion came and went, and he returned his attention to the gently sloping street ahead of him. Break skipped a few steps over the dirty concrete and back onto the gradually narrowing street behind Raven.

With each step they took away from the docks, the shelter of the crowd and clutter fell away, leaving Break fearsomely alone on the streets with Raven’s intimidating figure disconcertingly close. His blood was burning, and his whole body tingled on high alert each time Raven turned around to glance over his shoulder. Though he’d been briefed on Raven’s physical appearance, and seen pictures of him from M16’s database, the man’s large stature seemed impossibly intimidating up close. His back was all corded muscle, and his well-built shoulders had a dangerous sway to them as he walked, suggesting a disconcerting amount of strength and power. Without the crowd to obscure the abnormality, Break could easily see the large pockets of Raven’s black cargo shorts drooping low under some sort of weight. _I wonder how many throwing knives he’s got on him…_ he wondered uneasily.

Within minutes, Break was entirely lost. Raven’s path through the streets seemed erratic and unplanned, and looped along both crowded main streets and narrow, un-trodden alleyways. As the crowd thinned, Raven’s glances over his shoulder became more frequent, and Break’s following distance grew ever greater. Raven was a professional and experienced killer, and one of very few men on the planet more suspicious than Break himself. Being caught under the demonic blare of those burning eyes more than once would be an indisputable death sentence for Break. Each time Raven glanced over his shoulder to insure he wasn’t being followed, Break’s heart shuddered and his shoulders tensed. But Break’s natural aptitude for espionage and ability to blend in with even the smallest groups of people assured that Raven remained at least shakily unaware of his presence.

In another circumstance, Break was sure, Raven’s backwards glances would have been far more frequent. But today, he had a target of his own. A heavy-set and dark skinned man walking down the streets a few hundred yards ahead of him, a jaunty swagger in his step and a large backpack swung over one shoulder. It was apparent in his brazen stride and bold posture that the man was blissfully unaware he was being pursued.

Of the man’s identity, Break was uncertain. But what he was sure of was that the formidable pistol sticking out of the back pocket of his sagging jeans would be entirely useless in the face of the danger following him down the streets. Everyone even remotely involved in the international crime or law enforcement worlds knew that once Raven was set on someone, as a rule even their bones were never seen again. Raven was a cold, loyal killer, serving his employer with a devotion bordering on obsession. Rumors of the lengths he’d gone to in order to apprehend would-be captors and assassins were told in horrified whispers, along with stories of his mysterious past and how he’d come to serve his master. Some believed him to be an ex-Russian spy turned hired assassin, while others insisted he had once been a serial killer or a highly ranked KGB agent. The only detail of Raven’s past that any agency had ever been able to dig up was his Russian lineage, though no one had ever seen him in that country or heard him speak the language. And the menacing death toll he carried on his shoulders. At INTERPOL’s last count, Raven was listed as a suspect in over 200 murders across the world and had been apprehended for none of them. Members of the cartel and organized crime families, government and law enforcement agents, and even members of the world’s nobility had all fallen victim to his knives, clubs, and poisons. The list of people who’d left a fight with Raven alive was painfully short, and whoever the man he was tailing down Port-au-Prince’s streets was, he would definitely not end up on it.

Raven turned the next corner onto a busy thoroughfare, his distance behind his target growing ever smaller. Break followed, grateful for the press of cars and locals that would help keep Raven from spotting him. He ducked into a doorway as Raven turned over his shoulder again. This time his glance behind him was prolonged, so much so that he stopped moving to scan the street and storefronts around him. Break averted his eyes and huddled closer to the wall behind him, painfully aware of his white hair and fine clothes, which made him stand out even more in the dirty streets. Raven turned away and pulled something from his pocket. It was a short length of deep violet ribbon, which he used to pull his thick hair into a short ponytail at the base of his neck. Raven set off down the street once more, tugging a cigarette from behind his ear and producing a lighter from his pocket to ignite it. Break’s heart began to race as he pushed himself off the wall and began to follow Raven once more. As the distance between them closed, his fighter’s instincts kicked in and he pulled his hand from his pocket, holding the switchblade close beside him to keep it from view. He wished fervently for one of his three issued pistols, packed securely in a briefcase in his hotel room closer to the shore. Against the world’s most deadly close-combat fighter, all of Break’s training and his prowess with knives would do him little good.

Raven’s target hefted his backpack higher onto his shoulder and made a mad dash across the wide street ahead of a throng of traffic. Raven didn’t even pause to examine the oncoming cars before he followed him. A large truck slammed to a halt only feet from him, its horn blaring an ear-splitting tone and its driver shouting curses. Raven paid the man no mind, reaching instead for the snap that secured one of his deep pockets. Break drew in a sharp breath as Raven produced three four-inch long throwing knives and curled them casually in a half-closed fist. Break trailed along behind him, still on the opposite side of the street, his breathing quick and uneven. Raven’s target turned down a side street off the main thoroughfare, and Raven turned to follow. Break bolted towards the street without thinking, and jumped back as a massive truck loaded with hay crashed by only inches from him. The truck peeled off, and Break rushed across the street ahead of another throng of traffic. He reached the opposite side in seconds, and bumped straight into a local woman loaded down with an armful of paper grocery bags. She said something to him in angry Creole, and pushed hard on his chest with both hands. Break dodged around her without pausing to offer an apology.

The alleyway where Raven had vanished appeared on Break’s right and he ducked down it. Just feet from the bustling street, everything was quiet and still. The air reeked of mud and excrement, and a trail of half-cloudy water leaked from the back door of a butcher’s shop nearby. Break slipped to the side of the street and forced himself to draw deep, steadying breaths as he crept silently towards the place ahead where the alley turned a sharp corner. He reached it in seconds, and paused to listen for any hint of movement beyond. His heart thudded in his ears, and his blood boiled with every beat of his pulse. The street was silent, save for the drip of sloppy water from a clothesline strung between two windows above.

A solid thump from around the corner made Break jump. Adrenaline filled him in a stinging rush as he flipped the switchblade over in his hand and jumped around the corner, crouching low in a fighter’s stance as he did. He braced himself for whatever hammer of sharp, impossibly quick blows would a mark Raven’s first attack, already gritting his teeth in anticipation of pain.

But there was no sign of Raven.

The alleyway came to a sharp and sudden dead end only yards around the corner, the back wall of a shoddy apartment building barring the path back to the street. There was one way in and one way out, and Raven had vanished without a trace. There was no sign of muddy footprints on the walls where he might have climbed, and no broken down doors to mark a forced passage through the surrounding buildings. Break took another step and looked around in cautious admiration. _Maybe he flew away,_ he thought wryly.

Break tucked his switchblade back into his pocket and allowed himself a deep sigh of relief. _I’ll find him again. In a more crowded place this time. It’s not like he’s difficult to spot…_ he reassured himself.

A dark mass further down the alleyway drew Break’s attention and he set off towards it. As he drew up beside it, it became immediately clear that it was Raven’s target, as inevitably dead as he’d been the moment Raven spotted him on the pier. He was laying in a growing pool of his own blood, which dripped sordidly from gruesomely deep gashes in his throat and on both wrists. His pistol was still stuffed in his back pocket. He hadn’t even had time to draw it before Raven struck.

“Poor son of a bitch,” Break said quietly as he nudged the body with his foot. The man’s head lolled to one side, and his terrified and sightless eyes stared vacantly into the dusty ground. Break knelt beside him and examined his face more closely. Something caught his eye and he reached beneath the man’s shirt, careful to avoid the oozing gash on his throat. He tugged on a gold chain around the dead man’s neck, and a small pendant slipped free of his stained collar. It was cool in his palm, and glinted fiercely gold. The pendant was carved in the visage of a rabbit, a familiar silhouette stamped in gold with two emeralds glinting in place of eyes above a curving red crescent, a smile inlaid in brilliant rubies. Break stared down at it with a smile.

“I’ve finally got you…Jackrabbit,” he whispered triumphantly.


	2. Chapter 2

Break’s afternoon dragged on in much the same fashion as the morning, with him wandering the streets in search of more clues as to his Jackrabbit’s whereabouts or the identities of his employees in Haiti. He’d spotted Raven several more times, always with a target a few hundred yards ahead of him, but hadn’t been bold or stupid enough to follow him down the alleyways or into the run-down buildings where he pursued them. 

When the day began to wane towards a gorgeous and vibrant sunset, Break found himself drawn out of the dingier parts of Port au Prince on Raven’s heels. Petionville, the city’s wealthiest neighborhood, came upon them with the subtle grace of coy laughter, replacing the heavily trafficked bustle of the main streets with something softer. As the atmosphere around him shifted, Raven’s posture became more relaxed and his pace slower. With his hair freed from its ponytail, a cigarette between his lips, and his hands casually in his pockets, Raven could have been anyone. Only his tattoos and the now infrequent glances over his shoulder marked him as anything but a wealthy European tourist out for a stroll in the tropical evening.

Break paused inconspicuously to consider a gorgeous view of the ocean visible through the trees lining the streets, keeping an eye half-trained on Raven as he turned down a wide, cobbled street lined with large and well-illuminated storefronts. Raven stopped on the corner and pulled a sleek black device from his back pocket. At first it appeared to be a phone, but when Raven flicked his wrist, the palm-sized square of metal unfolded, and a small screen popped up. Break strained to read Raven’s lips as he leaned in close and murmured something into the device. As soon as Raven drew back, a small holographic interface popped up and hovered in the air over Raven’s hand. Break shifted and took a map from his back pocket. He leaned against the wall facing the street and unfolded it, doing his best to remain inconspicuous. He pushed his sunglasses further up on his nose to disguise the direction of his gaze, then squinted in concentration and focused once more on Raven.

The image hanging in the air above Raven’s hand struck Break as instantly familiar. It was a map almost identical to the one he was holding. Only the digital version Raven held was full of strangely illuminated points and glowing lines drawn over and between streets. Break watched as Raven raised a finger and tapped one of the points. The map zoomed in immediately, and Break recognized an overhead view on the street where they were standing. Raven swiped his finger along the interface and the street rushed by. He tapped once more to stop the image’s movement as a beacon of illumination appeared over one of the storefronts further along the street. He zoomed in momentarily and squinted at something written in the corner of the digital map. Satisfied, Raven swiped his hand through the center of the digital map, sending it scattering into a flurry of pixels that vanished almost immediately. He snapped the miniscule computer shut and stuck it back in his pocket, then set off deliberately across the street. Break tracked his progress with his eyes, watching as he strode through the door of a well-lit tailor’s shop and out of view.

When Raven was gone, Break pushed himself off the wall and folded the map into his pocket once more. He picked up his cane and tapped it on the ground at his feet, then set off down the hill back the way he had come.

The walk to his hotel was short, only a few blocks from the main street of Petionville where he’d left Raven. Break allowed himself to take the walk slowly, enjoying the warm wind in the trees and the remaining hints of gold and rose still twisting through the clouds overhead. He removed his notebook from his pocket once more and flipped through it casually, marking notes on Raven’s movements here and there throughout the most recent pages.

By the time he reached the hotel’s lobby, the sunset had begun to fade into ochre twilight and a chill breeze had begun to draft up from out over the ocean. The doorman gave him a nod as he strode up the street, and Break thanked him with a wave as he pulled the door open for him. The small lobby hummed with the sound of a loud air conditioner situated behind the front desk, and three or four massive fans turned slowly overhead, cooling the sprawling space. Break smiled at the woman behind the front desk, then cut his way through the lobby’s wicker chairs and low tables to the elevator. After a day of following Raven, Break was on high alert. The glances and raised eyebrows he received from the few other guests milling about the lobby made him jumpy, and he leaned with his back against the wall as he waited for the elevator to arrive.

Once he was upstairs at last, and had bolted his door and swept the room for possible hidden cameras or weapons, Break finally allowed himself to relax. He leaned his cane against the wall next to the queen-sized bed and tossed his switchblade onto the bedside table. Then he shrugged out of his shirt and collapsed face-down onto the middle of the mattress, heaving a heavy sigh. Barely a moment passed before he was already drifting towards a doze, carried along by the sound of the ocean drafting into the room through the open window and the jet lag still dragging at his bones.

Break jumped, and gasped so sharply he set himself coughing as a sharp buzzing sound jittered through his room. His eyes flew open and he bolted instantly into a sitting position, still spluttering. He looked around wildly for a moment then rolled his eyes as something on the floor caught his attention. The buzzing was emanating from his suitcase, a disastrous mess of well-worn checkered fabric that sat open on the floor beside the bed, its contents littered on the floor nearby. Resisting a powerful urge to ignore the call, Break scooted to the edge of the bed and leaned haphazardly over to fish his cell phone from a zippered pocket inside the suitcase. He sighed again as he turned it over and read the name flashing on the screen, beneath a glowing M16 insignia. After throwing himself back onto the bed, Break reluctantly tapped the phone’s screen. The buzzing halted immediately, replaced by a robotic woman’s voice.

“State your name and rank,” it demanded.

Break hit the speaker button and threw the phone down onto the bed beside him. “Xerxes Break, 007,” he muttered.

The phone gave a chirp and the robotic woman’s voice returned. “Identification not recognized. Please state your name and rank.”

Break rolled onto his back. “Fuck offfff…” he groaned.

The automated message spoke again, undeterred by Break’s frustration. “Identification not recognized. Please state your name and-“

Break snatched the phone and brought it up to his face, only centimeters from his lips. “Xerxes Break, 007!” he said loudly, putting harsh emphasis on each syllable.

The phone gave another reluctant chirp. “Identification recognized. Call waiting from…” the robotic voice faded, replaced by an achingly familiar human one.

“Cheryl Rainsworth,” it said.

The automated voice spoke again, undeterred by the string of curses that came from Break’s mouth. “Would you like to receive or decline this call?” it asked.

“Decline…” Break grumbled.

“Very well, Mr. Break. Thank you for – “

Break’s eyes widened and he jolted once more into a seated position. “No, no, no! I was kidding! Receive, receive!” he said, shaking his phone violently.

The phone gave a smug chirp. “Very Well, Mr. Break. I will connect you now.”

A moment of silence passed, then the phone let out a sharp ping as the call went through.

Break didn’t even have time to draw breath for a greeting before a sharp voice rang out through his room. “You were supposed to report in an _hour_ ago, 007. Where the hell have you been? Do you think this is a game? Do you think I wouldn’t have sent _anyone_ else if I could have?!” it raged.

Break threw his hands in the air. “I just got in! I’m not kidding you, I _just_ walked through the door!” he replied defensively. “I just spent the whole day tai – “ Break clenched his fists as the sharp voice cut him off again.

“You didn’t answer my question, Break. Where the _hell have you been_! We have no backup available for you whose identities Jackrabbit doesn’t know, other agencies’ presence in Haiti has been on the decline with relations getting worse, and you just _vanish?_ Are you trying to get yourself demoted?!” the voice exclaimed.

Break crossed his arms and stuck his tongue out at his phone. “I thought you said you didn’t have any other agents whose identities Jackrabbit doesn’t know,” he mocked.

There was a moment’s pause, and the sound of a steadying breath being drawn. When the voice spoke again, it was terrifyingly quiet. “So help me God, I will pull 002 or 001 out from under cover if I have to…” it said.

Break smiled. “Save yourself the effort…I found him,” he said smugly.

The silence from the other end of the line thrilled through Break. He uncrossed his arms and examined his short nails.

“What? No comment?” he asked.

Finally, the voice spoke again. “You…found Jackrabbit?” it asked incredulously. “You?”

Break rolled onto his stomach. “Almost…I found Raven. That’s where I’ve been all day. Tailing him,” he said.

Another moment of silence passed. “Well congratulations on doing your job,” the voice said sharply.

Break gave his phone a smirk. “You could just say you’re proud of me, Cheryl,” he drawled.

Cheryl’s response was instantaneous. “I will not say I’m proud of you until Jackrabbit and Raven are _both_ in our custody standing trial for every major drug-related crime committed in the past five years!” she shouted. “Now you have thirty seconds to start giving me your damn report, or when you get back from this mission you are through!”

Break pulled himself into a sitting position once more, suddenly serious. He took the notebook and map from his pockets, and thumbed through the pages he’d written that day to find his most recent notes. He laid the map on the bed beside the open notebook and glanced between the two. He put his finger on the map and began tracing the route he’d taken through the streets that day while following Raven. “I found him at the pier first…things in this ring must be going south. He was looking for someone. And he found him,” he said.

“Was it an employee of Jackrabbit’s?” Cheryl asked, her voice all cool seriousness.

Break tapped the place on the map that marked the street where he’d found the body of Raven’s first victim of the day. “Yeah. At first I wasn’t sure, but when I examined his body I found Jackrabbit’s insignia on him,” he replied. “And he wasn’t the only one. Raven tracked and killed at least five employees today, maybe more. I wasn’t with him all day, I’m too conspicuous here and he’s too suspicious. He would have noticed me if I’d kept a constant tail.”

Cheryl huffed. “Well it’s nice to know you retained at least some of what we briefed you on,” she said.

Break glanced down at his notebook. “Yeah…” he hesitated. “He was operating as himself, too…not as Gilbert Richardson,” he finished.

The line went dead quiet. Break could picture the look of shock and confusion on Cheryl’s face.

Break flipped a few pages back in his notebook and continued. “There must be something bigger going on here. Jackrabbit never sends Raven out undisguised, even to take people out,” he said.

“If this ring’s in enough trouble for Jackrabbit to be this unsubtle, this could be the chance we’ve been waiting for,” Cheryl said in disbelief.

Break tapped a photograph in his notebook and smiled coolly. “Yeah it could,” he said.

When Cheryl spoke again her voice had regained all of its business-like authority. “Your next step is to find a way to get to Jackrabbit himself…this is where things could get dangerous. With Raven constantly guarding him, he’s nearly invincible,” she said.

Break picked up his phone and disabled its speaker mode. He pressed it to his ear as he flopped once more onto his back. “And what if Raven _weren’t_ guarding him?” he said slyly.

Cheryl scoffed. “You aren’t the first agent who’s thought of taking out Raven first. I’m running low on body bags, I’d prefer not to have to send one all the way to Haiti,” she quipped. “There’s one man on our force that I would confidently send into a fight against Raven, and it isn’t you. Find another way,” she said sharply.

Break looked over at the mess spilling from his suitcase. “Cheryl, I don’t intend to fight him,” he said, his voice dripping with honey. Cheryl was silent. Imagining the shock on her face made Break smile as he continued. “It’s not like his preferences aren’t well known…and it seems to be a strategy no one’s tried before. There’s more than one way to get a person to drop their guard,” he said pointedly.

Another moment of silence passed before Cheryl spoke up once more. “I didn’t know you swung that way, 007,” she said wryly.

Break laughed. “There isn’t a way I don’t swing…I’m already set to go with this. Tonight. When I was tailing Raven earlier he was looking at some sort of digital interface with places all over the island marked on it. If I can get that computer, I have no doubt I can find Jackrabbit. This whole thing could be over in a matter of days,” he said triumphantly.

Cheryl gasped softly. “Raven’s personal interface…” she said, her voice low and calculating. “Alright, 007, you have my permission to go ahead with this. We have trackers on you, but I’ll need your intended location to pass on to surveillance in case anything goes south.”

Break scooted to the side of his bed and began half-heartedly rifling through the contents of the suitcase on the floor. “He’ll be in disguise again, and there’s only one place in Port Au Prince a man with standing like Gilbert Richardson’s would go for a drink…the Diamond Plaza,” he said.

Break jumped as something on the other line slammed into the floor. “No. You are not to follow Raven to the Diamond Plaza! You know who owns that place! You don’t need to be dealing with Hunter _and_ Jackrabbit on this mission,” she shouted.

“Hunter was spotted in South Africa checking up on one of his mines three days ago,” Break argued.

“ _Without_ Leo!” Cheryl retorted. “The last thing you need is the world’s most dangerous close-combat fighter _and_ the world’s deadliest sniper on your ass. If Leo’s not with his master, the chances of him being in Haiti to threaten Jackrabbit and Raven are painfully high. Hunter and Jackrabbit’s rivalry has gone deadly before. That is not a crossfire you want to be caught in,” she said.

“Awww, I’m touched. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were worried about me,” Break said with a melodramatic sigh.

Cheryl laughed loudly. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied icily. “You’re familiar with Leo’s alias, aren’t you? He operates the same way Raven does as Gilbert Richardson, as his master’s personal valet. He goes by the name of – “

“Glen Baker,” Break interjected. “I don’t do all the reading, Cheryl, but I do most of it.”

“Don’t interrupt me!” Cheryl snapped. “I expect a full report on all you learn tonight, including any sign of Leo. Hunter’s been too quiet lately, I don’t like it,” she said slowly. There was a brief pause. “Do you understand the seriousness of what you’re doing in Haiti? Everyone on the damn planet’s been hunting Jackrabbit for years. He’s the most conniving, manipulative, elusive piece of shit on the planet and he’s right in the palm of our hand. Taking him down is instrumental.”

“Yes ma’am,” Break replied lightly. “I’ll be in touch in the next few days.”

“Be safe,” Cheryl said. “And don’t fuck it up.”

The line went dead with no exchange of goodbyes.

Break dropped his phone onto the floor beside the disarray of his wardrobe. He pulled himself onto the bed again and picked up his notebook, thumbing casually through the pictures and clippings there. _Do you understand the seriousness of what you’re doing in Haiti?_ Cheryl’s voice echoed in his head.

Break smirked. “Even you don’t understand the seriousness of what I’m doing in Haiti…” he said quietly.

Another phrase cropped up in Break’s thoughts. _Taking him down is instrumental._

Break traced a finger over a name written in his neat handwriting on one of the pages of the notebook. _Taking him down **is** instrumental…because then I’ll be able to get to you…_

Break narrowed his eyes. “I’m coming for you, Zai,” he hissed.

 

 **************************************************************************************************************

 

The Diamond Plaza glittered as brightly as its namesake in the cool night, its white marble walls and glowing windows a brave statement of marble against the tapestry of a dark blue sky littered with a smattering of stars. Raven ran his fingers through his hair as he approached the door, and pulled an intricate gold pocket-watch from his jacket pocket. The doorman did his best to hide a look of surprise as he approached.

“Good-good evening Mr. Richardson,” he stammered.

Raven flashed him a cool smile. “Likewise,” he said. The doorman’s eyes flicked to the pocket watch in Raven’s hand. He followed his gaze then snapped the watch back into his pocket. The man’s eyes shot to his face once more.

“Please don’t hesitate to let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your evening more enjoyable,” the man continued nervously.

Raven nodded a farewell and brushed past the man into the elaborate lobby beyond. Ornate furniture was littered about in elegant formations, with wealthy hotel patrons scattered artfully about it. The walls were decked with rich paintings of seaside settings, and light music echoed through the room, emanating from a grand piano perched elegantly in one corner. Raven set off across the room, coolly ignoring the gazes of the patrons who turned to stare and whisper as he entered. Raven’s bold golden eyes and pale skin were brought to artful life by the deep teal shirt he wore, and the fine cut of his black suit placed him in an elegant class above even the wealthiest of the other patrons in the room. He strode easily towards the bar, one hand dipping into his pocket to retrieve the pocket watch once more. He dropped it from his palm and began to spin it by its chain, in time with the slow, confident pace he kept.

Something caught Raven’s eye as he walked, and his face settled into a mildly dissatisfied expression. He paused a moment then changed his course, dodging between a set of gorgeous couches and approaching a small cocktail table in the center of the room. A single, slight figure was seated in one of the two high-backed chairs there.

            She looked up from the book she was reading as Raven approached, and blinked at him through a set of delicate glasses. As easily as Raven’s face had settled into dissatisfaction, her well-formed lips turned up in a slight smile. Her long, dark hair was swept away from her face into a gorgeous braid, and her hands concealed beneath a pair of long white gloves. The deep blue satin dress she wore tumbled like an ocean around her crossed legs, and a gorgeous, diamond-encrusted necklace draped around her long neck and thin shoulder blades.

            “Mr. Richardson,” she lilted sweetly as Raven paused before her table.

            Raven rested his hands on the empty chair across from her and narrowed his eyes. “Good evening, _Miss L’Vitsa_. What brings you to Haiti?”

            The woman uncrossed her legs and set her book on the table. She leaned forward on one elbow and blinked slowly at Raven. Her eyes wandered to his pocket watch, and she reached up a casual hand to toy with the rich diamond necklace around her neck. “I heard there was a problem with the local rabbit population…have to keep them in check, you know?” she said with a small shrug.

            Raven gave her a sweet smile. “Well, I’d be careful if I were you, miss. It only takes one false step for the hunter to become the hunted…” he replied.

            The woman sighed and leans back in her chair. She picked up the drink on the table beside her book and took a delicate sip. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said as she lowered the glass.

            Raven popped his knuckles. “Have a pleasant evening,” he said icily.

            “You as well,” the woman replied with a little wave. She set down her drink and picked up her book once more, returning her attention to it before Raven had even turned from her table.

            Raven resumed his course towards the bar, forcing away his irritation. He approached and pulled out one of the barstools, tossing the pocket watch casually onto the counter beside him as he did. The bartender, a gorgeous woman with ebony skin and an intricate tumble of braided hair, appeared almost instantly. She gave Raven a smile. “Good evening sir, would you care for a drink?” she asked.

            “Vodka and tonic. With a lime, please,” he said politely.

            The woman nodded and bustled off across the bar.

            A soft whistle to his right made Raven jump. He turned sharply, his eyes landing instantly on a man who had appeared beside him. He was slight and elegant, and moved with a dancer’s grace as he pulled out the barstool beside Raven’s and leaned an elegant cane he carried against the counter beside it. He was even paler than Raven, with dark eyes and white hair pinned back at the base of his skull. Raven’s eyes were glued on him as he moved to sit, unbuttoning his black pinstriped jacket and adjusting the knot of the gold tie around his neck as he did. He raised his eyebrows as he craned his neck to watch the bartender. “Damn, she’s gorgeous,” the man said smoothly.

            Raven’s gaze flicked to the man’s hands, which had settled on the bar in front of him. They were awake, alive as a magician’s, and full of an expectancy of movement at every moment. The man looked over and at Raven and gave him a charming, curious smile.

            “You’re not Gilbert Richardson, are you?” he asked. His voice was lively, and his dark eyes sparkled inquisitively.

            Raven gave a small, embarrassed laugh. “I am,” he said with a nod.

            “Wow!” the man exclaimed. He shifted in his chair, turning to face Raven and extending a hand.

            Raven took it, and they shook. “I didn’t catch your name,” he said.

            The man leaned back in his chair. “I’m Maddon Kent,” he said. He laughed, and gave a small, one-shouldered shrug. “But my friends call me Mad.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi kids, mild smut in this chapter. It's Break and Raven, and I'll say again that this is a temporary pairing, only there for probably 2 chapters to serve a plot point, as Break outlined in the last chapter. Since it's a pretty rare pairing, I skipped a lot of the details. Just thought I'd give you all a bit of a warning. Happy reading!

 

Break smiled keenly, careful to keep a look of cool half-interest in his eyes as he spoke to Raven. The bartender returned with Raven’s drink, and gave Break a thorough glance. Her gorgeous lips turned up in a small, sultry smile and she propped one elbow on the bar. Her lightly accented voice was full of promise as she spoke.

            “Anything for you, sir?” she asked coyly.

            Break leaned away from Raven and looked the woman up and down. He raised his eyebrows slightly. “I don’t know…what do you think?” he replied.

            The woman leaned her chin into her hand and pursed her lips as she considered Break. “You look like the kind of man who’d enjoy a martini…shaken,” she guessed.

            Break shook his head. “Hardly sweet enough for me,” he lilted. “I’ll have ginger ale and triple sec…with a splash of pineapple juice if you’ve got it.”

            The bartender giggled. “That’s unconventional,” she said.

            Break shrugged. “I’m an experimental man,” he said sweetly.

            The bartender dragged her eyes over him and made a low sound in her throat. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

            Break gave her a wink as she turned and sauntered away, then tilted his head and focused once more on Raven. “So, Mr. Richardson-“

            “Gilbert, please,” Raven interjected with a wave.

            Break nodded and gave a little laugh. “Alright then…Gilbert. Have you been in Haiti long?” he asked.

            Raven picked up his drink and took a long sip. “I’ve been here a few days now,” he said. He set his glass down once more and traced a long finger along its rim.

            _You are not making this easy, Raven…_ Break thought angrily. He rifled through a short list of conversational phrases, searching for one that would keep Raven engaged for longer than a few seconds.

            “Anything interesting to see?” he asked light-heartedly.

            Raven sat back in his chair. He tapped his glass on the bar and then raised it to his lips again. “I’m not really one for sight-seeing,” he said. He took another deep sip of his drink and diverted his eyes, turning to look around the sprawling lobby behind them.

            Break cursed internally and turned to follow Raven’s gaze. “This place sure is gorgeous,” he said. “Are you staying here?”

            Raven huffed a laugh. “In a Nightray establishment? Maybe you really are mad,” he said with a smile.

            _Got him,_ Break thought triumphantly as he smiled back. “Stranger things have happened,” he said with a dismissive wave.

            “If there are things stranger than Oz Vessalius’ personal valet staying in a hotel owned by Elliot Nightray, I don’t know what they are…” Raven replied.

            The bartender returned with Break’s drink. He thanked her with a wink then picked up the glass and swirled its contents before taking a sip. The strong drink set a sweet explosion afire in Break’s mouth, and he smiled. “So, their rivalry’s really all it’s cracked up to be, then?” he asked.

            Raven set his drink on the bar and straightened in his seat. He ran the fingers of both hands through his hair and heaved a deep sigh. “More,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe some of the shit that Oz has pulled _just_ to piss Elliot off.”

            “Like sending you here for a drink, instead of to a different bar?” Break asked.

            Raven raised his eyebrows.

            _Come on…tell me if he’s here…_ Break coaxed silently.

            “He would do something like that,” Raven said with a laugh. “But Oz isn’t here. He’s in Belgium. It’s his 18th birthday in a few weeks and the family’s throwing a party at the Vessalius Manor there. No, I came here because I enjoy the scenery…”

            An edge in Raven’s voice caught Break’s attention. He turned his head subtly to follow Raven’s line of sight. He was tracing the movements of a short, thin woman in a long blue dress and high silver heels as she glided her way through the lobby towards the front desk.

            _Is that his next target?_ Break wondered.

            “Well, that certainly is a rarity. If what the papers say is true, you rarely leave Oz’s side,” Break said as he raised his glass once more.

            Raven shrugged. “I’m here on an errand for Zai,” he said.

            Break raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair. “Sounds important,” he said, adding weight and gravity to his voice.

            Raven laughed. He looked Break up and down, and his eyes narrowed slightly. He took another sip of his drink, then laid his forearm on the bar between them. “Not important enough that I haven’t had some time for myself,” he said. “Oz is a demanding boss…it’s nice to have a few days off.”  

            Break set down his own glass and turned to face Raven. He crossed his legs and put his arm on the bar beside Raven’s, their skin almost brushing. “I thought you said you weren’t much for sightseeing, Gilbert,” he said.

            Raven tilted his head. He reached up compulsively towards his ear and tugged a cigarette from behind it. He twirled it in his fingers but didn’t light it. “What do you do, Maddon?” he asked. His voice had taken on a new, lower quality, and something in his demeanor had shifted.

            _Must be something strong he’s drinking…_ Break hazarded. Raven’s shoulders had softened and his posture had become more languid. Even the look in his eyes had taken on a new, more lustrous tone. He was hardly recognizable as the hard, dangerous killer that Break had spent the afternoon tailing down the dusty streets.

            Break put his head on one side. “I’m a chef at a restaurant in New York, in the States,” he said.

            Raven’s eyes widened. “Are you? I love to cook,” he said jovially.

            _I know,_ Break thought. “Do you?” he asked with a laugh.

            Raven nodded. “It’s a shame, since Oz would eat just about anything…So what brings you to Haiti? It’s tourist season in New York, isn’t it?” he asked.

            Break took another sip of his drink. This time when he set his arm back on the bar, it was so close to Raven’s that he could feel the warmth radiating off of him. A well thought-out lie slipped easily from Break’s lips. “My sister’s wedding. She did mission work here for a few years and ended up engaged to a local. The ceremony was yesterday, but I decided to take the opportunity and extend my stay a few days. Specifically to _avoid_ the tourist season,” he said.  

            Raven thanked the bartender with a silent nod as she brought a second drink for him. He leaned closer to Break. “I don’t mean to pry, but I’m fascinated with language…you’ve got an accent. Not from New York originally?” he asked.

            Break laughed. “Dammit…I guess I’m not so good at concealing it when I’m around French speakers. I was born in Gourdes, in Provence. French is my first language.”

            “Il est une belle langue…” Raven said. His intonation was flawless, and his tongue folded around a perfect impression of a proper Parisian accent.

            Break gaped at him. “Holy shit, you sound like a native,” he said in mock amazement.

            Raven shrugged. “Like I said, I’m fascinated with language. I speak 13, every major language from Japanese to Spanish,” he said with a hint of pride in his voice.

            “Wow, that’s incredible!” Break said, his eyes widening. He reached out as he spoke, and placed his hand on Raven’s.

            The conversation stopped abruptly as Raven glanced down at Break’s hand then back up at him. Break raised his eyebrows and gave him a small smile. Raven considered him a moment, then turned his wrist so his hand lay palm-up beneath Break’s. Their eyes locked for only an instant before Raven looked down and away, biting his lip. Break traced a delicate finger over Raven’s palm, and leaned more casually against his elbow where it sat on the bar. He could feel the way his trim pinstriped suit and gold tie accentuated the unnatural white of his hair and deep crimson of his eyes.

            “Gilbert?” he asked quietly.

            Raven looked up once more, and his lips folded up in a quaint smile. He reached up to run a hand through his hair. “Hmm?” he asked.

            Break looked down at where their hands were entwined, and then back up through half-lidded eyes. It was a look he’d perfected after years of practice, the perfect combination of enticingly sexy and sweetly curious. “I know you’re not one for sight seeing…but I’m sure there’s something you could show me…?” he asked.

            Raven’s smile widened and he shifted his hand beneath Break’s to dance a finger along the inside of his wrist. “Maybe…” he said coyly. “But I think there’s more you could show me…”

            Break blinked at him slowly. _Easier than expected…_ he thought victoriously. He was careful to keep his face from showing his eager excitement, instead removing his hand from beneath Raven’s and gesturing for the bartender. She glanced up from her work and sauntered over to them once more.

            “Yes, sir?” she asked. Her gaze flicked to Raven, whose eyes were fixed on Break, and then met Break’s eyes. He gave her a small smile.

            “Check, please,” Break said, moving to fetch his small wallet from his jacket pocket.

            Raven beat him to it, whipping out a credit card and handing it to the woman. “Please, let me,” he said to Break.

            Break paused. “You sure?” he asked quizzically.

            “Of course,” he said, his voice like silk. He gave the woman a nod and a small smile. She took his card and walked away.

            Break turned and laid his hand on Raven’s again. “You didn’t have to do that, Gilbert,” he said with a small shake of his head.

            Raven tilted his chin. “Oh come on, having Gilbert Richardson buy you a drink is a great story, at least,” he argued with a chuckle.

            “I don’t know…it does seem like a bit of an anticlimactic ending…” Break said, his voice barely piquing over a throaty whisper.

            The waitress returned and Raven accepted the bill from her. He signed it and tucked his credit card back into his pocket. When he spoke again, his voice was laden with heady promise. “Well…I think we can remedy that.”

 

 *************************************************************************************************************************************

            The elevator door shut to the tune of Break falling forward to kiss Raven. He reached up through the sizable height difference between them and grabbed the back of Raven’s neck, drawing his head down and pushing him backwards into the corner of the small cab. Raven’s initial response was shock, his whole body tensing under the force of Break’s insistent embrace. But he softened in an instant, and wrapped an arm around Break’s waist as he allowed himself to be slammed back against the wall. Break and Raven let out twin gasps, latent with expectation and desire, as the embrace deepened further and Break’s mouth opened around Raven’s.

            Break tugged experimentally on Raven’s hair and smiled as he kissed him harder, pulling him flush against his body as he let out another quiet sigh. Raven bent further to kiss him more deeply, his whole body begging to be touched. The elevator dinged and Break pulled away in an instant, leaving Raven gasping. The door slid open and Break strode confidently through it, his cane clicking along beside him. He didn’t even pause to glance back at Raven until he was out in the hall. Then he turned, almost casually, over his shoulder. His eyes met Raven’s, whose gaze was a study in desperate lust, and gave him a small smile. “Coming?” he asked coquettishly.

            Raven pushed himself out of the elevator without hesitation, almost jogging to keep up with Break as he strode down the hallway towards his room. Break caught him off-guard once more as they arrived outside his door, grabbing Raven’s lapel in one hand and kissing him while he fished in his back pocket for his key with the other. He guided Raven back against the door as his key slid free from his pocket, and they fell into the room as the door opened under their combined weight. The change was enough to make Raven stumble, and he grabbed at the top of the door as they swung through it. Break pushed harder against Raven’s chest, both of his hands now free to grip the collar of his shirt. Raven released the door and Break kicked it shut behind them. It closed with an echoing slam as they kissed once more.          Break had carefully eradicated all trace of the room’s previous state of disaster. His suitcase was placed neatly in one corner, and his clothes kicked out of sight under the bed or into the closet. He’d been careful to leave the window open, and to shut only the thin, almost transparent white decorative curtains rather than the heavy green ones that would have shut out both the thin tumble of moonlight and the sound of the ocean that filled the room. The atmosphere in the room was cool and clean, full of the smell of night and the pale arch of moonlight. Raven and Break broke apart only long enough to make the walk to the bed, then dove back into the full force of their tight embrace. Break shifted his weight forward and Raven fell back onto the bed, his breath whooshing from him. He scooted back into the center of the mattress, and Break lowered himself to follow, kicking off his shoes before climbing atop Raven with one leg between his thighs. Raven’s hips rose as Break pressed down against him, and he let out another desirous groan.

            Raven raised his hands and tugged on Break’s jacket. They shifted, their kiss unbroken, for a few seconds while Raven pulled it from Break’s shoulders and tossed it aside. Break pulled himself up onto his knees and removed his tie, then unbuttoned his collar. Beneath him, Raven sat up enough to remove his own jacket, which made its way onto the floor beside Break’s. He looked Break up and down once more as he lay back onto the bed, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths and one of his hands rising to tangle once more in his hair.

            “Moonlight does wonders for you, Gilbert,” Break said quietly as he lowered himself once more. Raven hissed through his teeth as Break leaned in to kiss his neck. He snaked a hand up the side of Raven’s body and found Raven’s fingers clenched in the sheets beside them. Raven responded to his touch, grabbing instead at Break’s fingers. He choked back another gasp as Break traced another long kiss down the side of his neck. His whole body was soft; his already flushed face and tight grip on Break’s hand the picture of passionate desire.

            “Please…” Raven managed as Break rocked his hips against his and pressed their bodies flush against one another’s.

            _So submissive…_ Break thought as he kissed Raven’s open mouth once more. A surge of power went through him as Raven’s shoulders relaxed further, and his mouth parted eagerly under Break’s casually insistent kisses. An idea blossomed slowly in his head as he reached up to unbutton Raven’s shirt and kiss his smooth chest. He drew himself up onto his hands and knees as he unbuttoned his own shirt with one hand. A fire of desirous lust awoke in his stomach as he looked down into Raven’s eyes. His pupils were dilated already, and his eyelids half-closed in a hooded, burning stare. “I want to play a game, Gilbert…” Break said as he removed his leg from between Raven’s and straddles him.

            Raven jolted beneath him as Break traced a delicate hand up his muscular torso, his light fingers leaving tingling trails behind them. “Wha-what kind of game?” he asked breathlessly.

            Break bent, his lips and tongue tracing the same pattern his fingers had. Raven cried out loudly, the sound stifled as he raised a hand to cover his own mouth. By the time Break reached his jaw, Raven was panting, biting down on one of his fingers to keep from crying out again, his eyes screwed shut and his head thrown back. “Well…” Break whispered in his ear. He thrilled as Raven gave an unexpected shudder. He leaned in closer. “Unfortunately it’s not every day you end up in bed with Gilbert Richardson…” he continued. “I want to know more about you…and if you answer my questions I _promise_ to give you what you want…” he leaned in and nipped softly at Raven’s earlobe as he spoke.

            Raven’s response was immediate and intense. He pulled his hand away from his mouth, the word “Yes!” filling the air around them.

            Break drew away, sitting back on Raven’s hips and looking down at him with eyes full of glittering darkness. He reached up and pulled the pins from his hair, tossing the handful of them ungracefully aside as he shook his head. He gave Raven a cunning, coy smile as he leaned down over him once more and place another long, slow kiss on his lips.

 

 ************************************************************************************************************************************

            Break lay on his side, propped on one elbow, facing away from Raven where he slept. His small notebook was open on the bed before him, and he scratched notes with small, quick strokes of his pencil, squinting to read his own faint writing in the frail illumination the moon provided. His heart still raced, and his body pounded with remembered sensation as he wrote. How Raven’s yeses had devolved into low groans, and then become “yes sir”s as he submitted to Break’s touches and questions.

            _Have you ever met Zai Vessalius in person?_ Break heard himself asking. Raven’s response jittered through his thoughts, thrilling him.

            **_Raven admitted to having met Zai…possible that he’s serving him directly, with Oz as a front…_**

Break jumped a few lines down the page and added a bullet point. _How long have you been serving the Vessaliuses?_ He put his pencil to the paper.

            **_Raven admitted to having been in service to the family for four years as Oz’s personal valet. Somehow this seems implausible…Raven’s past is unknown. Possible that connections to the family go deeper than imagined…_**

            Break sighed and turned the notebook’s page.

            **_Jackrabbit’s location still unknown. Have to keep Raven with me…find a way to gain access to his personal interface, and use it to find his master. It’s only a matter of time before Jackrabbit starts missing his Raven…something’s gotta give. Soon. If I keep waiting, an opportunity will present itself. It always does. I’m sure if you look hard enough that’s written in the M16 training manual somewhere…_**

            Break closed his notebook and reached over to shove it beneath the mattress. Then he rolled over in bed to face Raven. He considered his face, relaxed in sleep, his hair tangling loosely around his face. _I guess there are worse people to be stuck with for a few days…worse looking people for sure…_ he reasoned.

            Break yawned and closed his eyes, dropping almost immediately into a doze. Around them the night was still and quiet, the sound of the ocean filling the room along with the dance of moonlight filtering through the still open window. The air was still, Raven’s and Break’s deep, restful breaths the only disturbance.

            Neither was awake to hear a tiny beep, or see a red light blink once in the corner of the tiny computer still inside Raven’s jacket pocket.

 

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay in posting, I was out of the country on a family vacation with no Internet connection!
> 
> Secondarily, if any of you happen to be from Denver, CO and at NDK this weekend, keep a lookout! My sister and I, and our best friend, are cosplaying Bond AU versions of Leo, Liam, and Raven as they'll appear in a later part of the story. But fear not, even if you're not there, you'll still get to know these characters in this AU very well very soon! 
> 
> Slight trigger warning for this chapter: Break kicks ass, so some mild graphic description of violence, but nothing to really write home about.

            The next four days passed in a blurry haze, with Break and Raven bouncing between Break’s small bed and Haiti’s tourist attractions and most well known resorts. They were never apart for longer than the few minutes Raven spent on curt, secretive business calls, and neither one of them was particularly inclined to be. Raven’s façade of cool indifference fell to Break’s charm and wide smiles, and Break was pleasantly surprised to discover an almost child-like wonder for the world hidden beneath Raven’s intimidating gaze and formidable stature. Their first day together found them thrown adrift outside Port au Prince, driving through the low, green mountains of inland Haiti in an expensive rental car to reach Jacmel on the opposite coast. They’d spent the day wandering adrift among the low houses and walking along the beach, Break dragging Raven into the shallow water by a hand. With no plan and no luggage to speak of, they had been unprepared for a harsh evening storm, which had trapped them in the small town overnight. There Raven’s guard had finally dropped enough that he’d left his personal interface casually on the table while he was showering. Break had picked it up and examined it, even managed to get it open past the point of looking like just a high-tech phone, but no further. He’d pressed enough buttons on the keyboard that had emerged on the opened version of the device that a miniscule red light had begun to blink in the corner. But though he examined it thoroughly, the interface had yielded no further answers.

            He’d caught sight of Raven using the interface as it was intended, as a direct line to Jackrabbit, several times when he thought Break was asleep. Though he paid close attention, Break was never quite able to distinguish the complex pattern of turning pieces and pressed buttons – likely far more secure than a password in the eyes of the paranoid and tech-capable Jackrabbit – that would force the interface to yield its secrets. After one such time, when Raven had sat up quietly in bed and brought up the digital map once more, Break had been shocked and horrified when he actually got out of bed, slipped into his clothes, and left Break’s hotel room via the balcony door, making the two-story drop to the packed earth below without so much as a stumble or a sound. The instant he was gone, Break had jumped out of bed and dressed, snatching his cane and taking the far less bold route out onto the street, through the lobby. He’d been close enough behind Raven that finding him in the streets hadn’t been too difficult. He’d been beyond shocked to tail Raven to another bar, where he’d found him sitting across from a tall stranger, spinning his pocket watch in one hand, wearing the same coy look he’d given Break as they spoke in the Diamond Plaza. Break had sworn fervently to himself, sure he’d lost Raven’s interest, sure that his need to glean the secrets of Raven’s personal interface would now come to a violent confrontation, and that he’d end up on the ever-growing list of men to not survive a fight with the most dangerous man on earth.

            He’d returned to his hotel room in a rage, wincing at the thought of making a call to Cheryl and decidedly putting it off until morning. Though he’d been sure he wouldn’t sleep, he’d fallen into a doze almost immediately. Hours later, when it was still pitch-black outside, he’d woken to the feeling of a heavy hand on his shoulder. Responding to his training, he’d jolted up in bed and turned with a fist already raised to strike his attacker. Which was when Raven had settled atop him almost instantly with a heady kiss. The unexpected embrace had left Break confused and aroused, and more than a little relieved even through the thick haze of sleepiness that had drug at his bones. Deciding that Raven had gone out on a short mission on Jackrabbit’s orders, and that the stranger from the bar had likely joined the same list that Break himself had feared he’d be the next installment on, Break had dropped the issue.

            But Break was not a patient man. By the time their fourth day together was drawing to a close, he found himself unable to extract further information from Raven either via casual conversation or casual sex, and unwilling to wait any longer to try again. While Raven had been on a business call, Break had dared to open the notebook he’d been keeping throughout his mission, flipping back through the pages cramped with his detailed observations until he’d found a list of establishments known to be owned by Jackrabbit in Haiti. _If I can get Raven to one of these places, not only would it probably scare any employees into revealing who they were, but I could probably get him distracted enough that I might be able to make a grab for that interface again…if I could get it out of his hands long enough I’m sure I could figure it out._ On the list of hotels, bars, restaurants, and clubs, one name had stood out to Break. A place with a reputation for loud music and a crowded dance floor, a club that had become notorious among law enforcement as the one of the central sites surrounding the recent disappearances of tourists in Haiti. If Jackrabbit had a headquarters in Haiti, the nightclub L’Abyss was undoubtedly it.  

            The last night they spent together found them bobbing in a small sailboat on the harbor outside Port au Prince, eating a modest picnic dinner and watching the last hints of twilight fade from the horizon. Raven was relaxed, reclining on the deck with his arms behind his head, while Break sat staring at the sea. Their conversation was casual, never settling on anything for too long. As the light around them faded, Break stood and walked to the steering wheel, flipping a switch near it and illuminating the small, yellowish bulbs that hung about the rigging to light the ship once it got dark. When he returned to Raven, he looked down at him and extended a hand. Surprised, Raven accepted Break’s hand and pulled himself to his feet. Break plucked the cigarette from behind Raven’s ear and reached boldly into his front pocket to retrieve a lighter. He illuminated the cigarette and took a long drag, blowing the smoke away and then handing it to Raven. Raven took it nimbly between two fingers and put it in his mouth. He looked down at Break in mild surprise and excited half-acceptance as Break stepped up closer and put his arms around his neck.

            “Dance with me, Gilbert,” Break commanded softly.  

            Raven responded, putting his hands on Break’s lower back and drawing him close. There was no music, but they began to sway a slow time. Break looked up at Raven and gave a sad little sigh. “I leave in two days,” he said quietly.

            Raven tilted his head. “I know,” he said.

            “These have been the fastest four days of my life! And some of the best…” Break replied. He gave Raven a smile. “Sorry to have distracted you so much from your work.”

            Raven shook his head. “I needed a break. The Vessaliuses keep me so busy I hardly have any time for myself,” he said.

            Break pressed more fully against Raven, leaning his chin on his chest and looking up at him. “Tomorrow’s our last night together…let’s do something crazy,” he said excitedly.

            Raven looked down at him. “Crazy?” he asked. “What did you have in mind?”

            Break’s eyes lit up and he drew himself up so his lips nearly brushed Raven’s. “You’re a good dancer…maybe we should go dancing?” Break paused, his stomach jolting nervously. If Raven refused he knew he would be back to square one. And on a time-sensitive mission like this, where every moment brought him closer to being found out, a misstep like that would likely get him sent back to headquarters. He hesitated only a moment before speaking further. “Oz has quite the reputation as a partier, I’m sure you’ve heard of…L’Abyss?” Break asked.

            Raven drew away and looked down at Break, his face a mask of surprise. “L’Abyss?” he asked, surprised. “You don’t seem the type for a club like that. It’s pretty intense…”

            Break raised his eyebrows and drew his body flush against Raven’s, making him gasp. “And what makes you think I’m not intense?” he flirted.

            The now familiar, searing heat of desire slipped into Raven’s gaze. “I…” he hesitated a moment. “Alright, I’m in. But tomorrow I need the day to sort some things out for work. Business calls can only do so much,” he said.

            _People to kill, probably, so they won’t recognize you or cause problems in Jackrabbit’s Haiti headquarters…_ Break thought wryly. He composed his face into an elated smile. “Of course! Much as I may want to, I know I can’t have you all to myself _Mr. Richardson_ ,” he said.

            Raven smiled and nodded. “Well, I’ll be finished in time to meet you for dinner…back at the Diamond Plaza, maybe?” he suggested.

            _Another chance to spot Leo or Hunter **and** an expensive dinner on Oz Vessalius? Twist my arm,_ Break thought. He nodded eagerly. “Who could say no to that? 7 o’clock?” he asked.

            “7 o’clock,” Raven confirmed.

            Break swayed once more against Raven and then drew his face down to kiss him. Schemes and plans already danced through his brain, and he could virtually taste the victory that would be his in less than two days’ time.

**********************************************************************************************************************

            The restaurant at the Diamond Plaza was every bit as extravagant as Break had hoped it would be, and Raven’s tastes even more so. Gilbert Richardson’s penchant for  fine cuisine was more than well-known, and Break was thrilled with the opportunity to experience everything that meant. Expense, of course, was arbitrary, as Oz’s bank accounts would suffer less from the loss of $1000 than most people’s would from the loss of a single penny. This meant that the glasses of wine Raven ordered to accompany an appetizer of seared tuna lightly glazed with ginger and wasabi cost nearly half as much as a month of Break’s rent. The Diamond Plaza’s owner, Elliot Nightray, was a well-known gourmet, so the menu was exquisite. In his one show of assertiveness in their entire time together, Raven took care of ordering everything after asking after Break’s personal tastes. Remembering his identity as Maddon Kent, the head chef at a small Manhattan restaurant, Break did everything he could to keep from letting his jaw drop at his first taste of a delicately grilled tilapia fillet with mango sauce that Raven had ordered in keeping with Break’s insistence that he would eat “just about anything sweet.”

            As they ate, Break did his best to subtly scan Raven’s body for signs that he was armed. L’Abyss’ dress code was notoriously strict, and Raven had risen to the challenge in all black, tailored slacks and a fitted dress shirt that emphasized his sculpted shoulders and torso. Though he’d rolled is sleeves to the elbow – thereby eliminating the possibility of throwing knives strapped to his wrists – Break could find at least six places where Raven could be hiding knives or clubs at just a cursory glance. Professional as he was, at least a dozen weapons were likely concealed in his wardrobe.

            Break himself was heavily armed, his two M16 pistols carried in a shoulder holster tight against his body beneath his white shirt and navy blue jacket, a small switchblade in his back pocket, and his long cane leaning nonchalantly against the table beside them. If the night went anything like Break hoped and he was able to glean Jackrabbit’s location from Raven’s stolen interface, he was sure he would need two things: all the weapons in his repertoire, and Raven to be incapacitated beyond the point of being able to fight, because after their time together Break’s feeble assurance that he would be able to beat Raven in any sort of physical confrontation had dwindled to nothingness. The first part had been a simple matter of carefully concealing his guns and knives for their dinner, but the second relied on a part of Break’s plan so risky he hadn’t even confessed it to Cheryl as he gave her a brief mission update while Raven was away earlier that day.

            It was a part of his plan that Break approached Raven about just as they were finishing dinner. Raven had had three large glasses of wine, and his slightly flushed cheeks and widened eyes revealed to Break that Raven’s buzz was just as strong as his. Though the subject was tricky, and the possibility of Raven’s rejection of the idea left his stomach turning, Break decided bluntness really was his best course of action.

            “So…you into anything besides great sex and amazing wine?” he asked, forcing confident smoothness into his voice.

            Raven lowered his glass mid-sip and gave Break a surprised look. “Sorry, what?” he asked in shock.

            Break smiled nonchalantly and shrugged. “I know it’s not for everyone…but I hear you can get just about _anything_ on these islands if you know who to talk to…”

            Sudden clarity dawned on Raven and his eyebrows shot up. “Wow…you’re more intense than I thought, Mad,” he hesitated. “Have you…ever done anything like that before?”

            Break shook his head. “No,” he lied easily. “But I figure if I’m going to do it once I might as well have a good story to go with it…” Raven’s face shifted into an expression of doubt. Uncertainty and anxiousness flared in Break. He pressed harder, remembering Raven’s submission in everything else throughout their time together. _If I press hard enough, he’ll give,_ Break hoped. “We said it was going to be a crazy night…and come on, who am I going to tell?” Raven’s face remained unchanged. Break reached out a hand and put it on top of Raven’s, looking him in the eyes. “Come on, Gilbert. Break the rules, just this once…”

            Something about those words resonated with Raven and made his expression shift. His eyes flashed excitedly and his mouth turned up in a smile. “Okay,” he said with a nervous laugh. “Let’s do it…I even know who to talk to.”

            Break smiled. “Wow. You’re more intense than I thought, Gilbert,” he said, echoing Raven’s earlier words.

            Raven lifted his glass again. “Yes, sir, I am,” he said coyly.

            They finished their meal hurriedly, Raven leaving a large tip for the waitress and insisting that the chef be complimented on the quality of their meal. L’Abyss was a moderately far walk from the Diamond Plaza, so Break and Raven had plenty of time to talk and chat. Break acted shocked when Raven confessed that Oz himself was a frequenter of L’Abyss, and that he’d spoken personally to the dealer they’d encounter in the club several times to procure products like cocaine both for himself and his employer.

            As they turned the corner onto the street that led up to the club, Raven extracted something from his jacket pocket and held it in a practiced grip in one hand. It was a large gold pocket watch, a rabbit embossed in black lacquer on the front, its emerald eyes and ruby smile glaring out at Break. Break made for the line as they approached the door, but Raven waved him forward. The bouncers at the door were tall and burly, their grim jawlines as hard as marble and their crossed arms scarred and muscular. When they saw Raven coming and did their best to conceal expressions of shock and mild horror. One even reached for what Break was certain was a gun concealed in the deep pocket of his dark jeans. Raven spoke quickly to them in French, swinging his pocket watch in one hand, and without a moment’s hesitation the two men stepped aside, allowing Break and Raven entrance.

            “Wow, you do know who to talk to…” Break said as they walked to the door.

            Raven’s response was drowned almost instantly by the thick crush of noisy music around them. As Break pulled the door open, L’Abyss rose to meet them. Raven strode confidently through the door, seeming more at home than he had for the rest of their time together. Break, however, had to allow himself a moment of pause at the door. L’Abyss was, in short, the most over-the-top and hypnotizing place Break had ever been.

            A giant dance floor dominated most of the center of the main floor, packed already with a crowd of young people both local and tourists. Strobe lights and fog machines created a sense of mystery, and the entire place had an out-of-control atmosphere that seeped immediately into Break’s blood. A massive fish tank containing jellyfish that glowed in bright greens and blues beneath the blacklights filled a thick column that rose through the center of the space. Break followed the trail of one jellyfish and found his eyes catching on two upper levels. The silhouettes of more dancers were revealed through panes of frosted glass emblazoned with intricate geometric patterns in gold and black. Tables lined the sides of the dance floors, most occupied by couples engaged in intimate embraces or laughing groups of people-watchers picking through the crowd with judgmental eyes. No one was dressed in anything less than the utmost finery, silk and sequined dresses catching the light alongside velvet jackets and brightly-colored ties. Thudding, wordless music filled Break’s veins the second he walked through the doors, and he found himself subconsciously moving in time with the strong beat as he followed Raven to a bar extending along the entire left-hand wall of the space. The bar’s lower half, like the pillar in the center of the dance floor, was full of fish. Local tropical fish twined intricately through the water alongside lionfish and puffer fish. The counter was a study in intricacy, clear, hollow glass full of what Break was sure were real diamonds lit from below by LED lights that pulsed different colors in time with the music. The shelves where unbelievably high-end bottles of whiskey, vodka, and gin sat in rows were lined in gold, and the mirrors behind them flecked with it. By the time they reached the bar and Break shouted is order for a Mai Tai over the thudding beat of the music around them, he’d given up trying to calculate the cumulative expense of the place.

            Catching his companion’s amazement, Raven ordered a gin and tonic and turned to Break. “Welcome to Oz Vessalius’ world,” he said, his face twisted up in a coy half-smile.

            “I never want to leave,” he said in genuine amazement.

            Raven nodded away from the bar. “Oz is on the VIP list at this place every night, regardless of whether he’s in Haiti or not. Come on, they’ll bring our drinks over. Break followed Raven as he led them around the edge of the club, skirting the dance floor where the crowd was thickest, and climbing a small set of glass stairs filled with more LED-lit diamonds to a set of tables arrayed slightly above the rest of the dance floor. The power trip as he followed Raven up those stairs was undeniable to Break, and only grew in strength as someone recognized Raven and gave a gasp. Raven responded to the stranger’s surprise with a small, distant wave.

            They took a seat at a booth lined with black leather couches, Raven swinging his pocket watch and Break looking around. He feigned amazement, but was already scanning the crowd for signs of the dealer they would meet, or anyone else who might be connected to Jackrabbit. He caught a burly man staring at Raven several times, and carefully returned his gaze to him whenever he could. As Raven had promised, their drinks arrived in a matter of minutes. Knowing that he had to keep up with Raven at first to make himself appear unthreatening, Break downed his quickly. Raven did the same, licking his lips as he drank deeply.

            Something – Break was sure it was Raven’s pocket watch, or perhaps his simple presence in the club – drew a stranger to their table. A beautiful woman likely no older than Break, with braided hair that fell all the way down her back and an intricate tattoo depicting wickedly thorny rose vines stretching from her muscular shoulder all the way to the tips of her ebony-dark fingers. She wore a tight gold dress and sky-high heels, but even still Break was sure she could still win a fight against the majority of the people in the club. His suspicions that this was one of Jackrabbit’s employees were confirmed as the woman drew near and Break caught sight of a familiar insignia tattooed in deep black on her chest, just below her collarbone. Break couldn’t hear the conversation between she and Raven as she arrived at their table, but his continued swinging of his pocket watch and the barely-concealed terror in the woman’s expression as she leaned in so Raven could whisper in her ear told him all he needed to know. Raven was this woman’s superior, Jackrabbit’s personal harbinger of death from whom there was little to no escape. His presence in her club, especially with a stranger, probably made her fear for her life, Break reasoned.

            After a short conversation, the woman hurried away across the club. Break watched her as she disappeared first behind the bar and then through a half-concealed door behind it. Break noted the door’s position for later use. “Who was that?” he shouted to Raven.

            Raven took a deep sip of his drink. “Who to talk to,” he said wryly. Barely a few minutes passed before a slim young man appeared from the same hidden door where the head dealer had disappeared, a small envelope in his hand. He approached Break and Raven’s table, giving Raven the same cautious look that the woman had, and handed off the envelope. Raven gave him a dismissive nod and he skittered away eagerly.

            Break eyed the envelope with momentary trepidation. He watched Raven open it and examine its contents. “Wow, Oz really must be a regular here, everyone seems to know you,” he said as Raven looked up.

            Raven nodded. “A partier like Oz? Hell yeah he’s a regular. Sometimes he’ll fly to Haiti _just_ to go to dancing here, and then fly right back home the next morning.” Raven paused and looked up and around. “It’s hard to complain about being dragged along with him, most times…” he focused once more on the envelope in his hands, tipping some of the powdery white contents into a small line on the table, which he straightened with the edge of the envelope. “Well…?”

            Break leaned forward boldly and drew a large inhale, feeling an instant rush of intense heat as the powder entered his nose. He sat back up, his head already spinning and his eyes widening. “Whoa,” he said, doing his best to act as if the sensation caught him off-guard.

            Raven followed suit, pouring more of the powder onto the table for himself and inhaling it in a smooth motion. When he looked up at Break, his eyes were already afire, and his face had taken on a new dimension of excitement. “Whoa,” he echoed enthusiastically. Break looked around madly, downing the rest of his drink then reaching out to grab Raven’s hand across the table. “Dance with me,” he said eagerly. Raven complied without a moment’s hesitation, finishing his drink in a large sip and then pulling himself to his feet.

            The drugs rushed through Break’s blood as they made their way to the crowded dance floor. The powder’s quality was far higher than any he’d experienced when he’d been required to operate under hallucinogens and other hard drugs as part of his training, and the intense spin it added to the world was downright intoxicating. Break’s world devolved into a series of flash-quick moments, where the world around him would crystallize before suddenly returning to the hazy whir the drugs had made of it. One moment he was standing at the bar ordering another drink for Raven, into which he tipped more of the powder. The next second they were dancing, light and sound colliding around them in a brilliant wash of his senses. The next they were pressed up into the back corner of the club, their arms and mouths locked around each other. Maintaining even the clarity to remember that he was there on assignment was beyond a stretch. Break nearly lost himself several times in the thrill and tumble of the impossibly crowded dance floor, riding the electric wave of his high through indiscriminate seconds and minutes. He repeated simple instructions to himself again and again, clinging to them with all he was worth. _Incapacitate Raven…steal his interface…find Jackrabbit…_

            It must have been hours before Break’s euphoria released enough of him that he was able to regain a rocky hold on reality. The cocaine haze spit him out on the dance floor, pressed up against Raven, their arms about one another. Break’s vision was still sharpened by the influence of the strong chemicals, and his blood burned with a ridiculous fizz of energy. Raven grabbed him around the waist more tightly, and Break slid his hands down Raven’s body, sliding them onto his hips. He leaned in and kissed Raven deeply, slipping his hand into his back pocket at the same time and lifting the small interface from it so lightly that Raven wouldn’t have come close to noticing. His pupils were still dilated and his eyes wide, his entire body trembling under the influence of their first mutual hit and then the drugged drinks Break had brought him.

            “One more drink?” Break shouted to Raven over the loud techno thrum of the dance music.

            Raven nodded eagerly. Break leaned in to kiss the sweat from his neck then pulled away.

            “I’ll be right back!” he shouted.

            Raven gave a nod, releasing Break reluctantly as he drew away and turned to the bar. The instant he was out of Raven’s line of sight, Break dodged through the crowd, keeping low so Raven couldn’t spot him through the crowd. He made his way back to their table and retrieved his cane, then skirted around the edge of the club until he arrived at a set of stairs leading upwards. He took them three at a time, dodging past an intertwined couple, spinning his cane in his hand and checking the press of the shoulder holster against his chest with a deep inhale. Once upstairs and truly sure he was out of Raven’s sights, Break ducked to the side of the LED-lit dance floor on the second floor and took a seat at a tiny table. He turned on the interface and quickly popped it open, revealing the more advanced computer within. When he did, he blinked in immediate shock. All the interface’s small holographic display had ever greeted him with before was a black screen with Jackrabbit’s insignia floating wickedly in the middle. But now, the same digital map Break had watched Raven interact with before their first meeting was arrayed in brilliant blues and greens before him. The chance of it was monumental, but every second that passed meant a slightly more sober Raven, and their confrontation would be over before it even began if the drugs released their hold on him.

            Break tapped haphazardly on the map. It zoomed out instantly, revealing a portrait of the entire island in luminescent pixels. Red dots were splayed all about it, clustered around certain buildings and in the less-populated areas of the city. Several purple dots moved slowly and warily through the streets, some of them with orange dots tailing after them in groups of three or four. Break understood almost immediately that they represented employees of Jackrabbit’s, likely all monitored by microchips in the gold pendants they wore. _Red dots are probably ones Raven’s already taken care of…maybe orange are dogs or other lower-ranking employees…_ Break scanned the map harder, looking for more hints. He zoomed in on the harbor, and then on the city’s slums, frantically searching for anything out of the ordinary. He flicked his finger hard and sent the map skittering to the north, his eyes flickering over the buildings and coastline, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Excitement jolted through Break as he caught sight of a bright green spot on the map. He slammed his finger down on the holographic screen, stopping it in place. His face spread in a wide smile. The green light, the only one like it anywhere on the map, was situated directly atop L’Abyss. At least ten orange lights were clustered near it, along with three purple ones. Break’s eyes narrowed and his smile took on a keen, predatory edge. Another light was positioned so close to the green one that they were nearly on top of one another. This one bore a familiar shape, the silhouette of Jackrabbit’s insignia. The point of light was brilliantly gold, and pulsed slowly in and out of being, almost like a heartbeat.

            _He’s here…_ Break thought triumphantly. Immediately he looked up and around the club with new eyes, his still-addled senses on high alert as he tried to spot Jackrabbit’s employees among the thick crowd of dancers. He shut the interface, lest a set of Jackrabbit’s eyes see him with it, and stuffed it into his back pocket. Neither the gorgeous woman who had approached he and Raven nor the slight young man who had brought the product to their table were visible, nor was anyone else suspicious at first glance. Break allowed his trained eyes to flow over the crowd, looking for patterns or inconsistencies. Finally, something stuck. A short, somewhat stocky man walking across the dance floor, interacting with no one. His dark eyes were busily analyzing the club with the same thoroughness as Break’s, and as a bright flash of strobe lights illuminated his face, Break could see a small earpiece in his left ear. He stood immediately and ducked out of the man’s field of view, skirting the edge of the dance floor. He paused to flirt with a few tourists, turning on the charm and purposely emphasizing his slight French accent to win the girls’ attention in a manner of seconds, all the while keeping one eye on the burly man. When he passed by on his way towards the main floor, Break excused himself from his admirers and followed at a distance. In a scene like L’Abyss, his shining hair and trim clothes were nothing but an advantage, allowing him to blend with any group he chose and keep out of the man’s sight. He followed him back to the main floor, glancing back onto the dance floor, where Raven – still blasted out of his mind – had begun to dance with a tall, dark stranger, his arms around the new man’s neck and their faces pressed close. _Well…guess he got over me easily,_ Break thought wryly.

He returned his attention to his target, sticking as close as he dared as the man moved towards the side of the bar and slid a panel out of the way then entered a combination on a keypad that appeared. When a handle popped out of the smooth metallic finish on the door and the man turned his back on the club to enter the newly opened space, Break struck. He darted through the crowd with the ease of a ghost, arriving directly behind the man as he stepped through the door. Break followed with ease. He ducked beneath the man’s arm, materializing in front of him without warning. Before the man could even scream, Break whipped his switchblade from his back pocket and slashed his throat neatly, all the way to the windpipe. The man’s body slumped forward instantly. Break caught him in one arm, setting him gently on the floor, then shut the door effortlessly behind them. He rolled the fallen man into the doorway, blocking it from opening as effectively as he could.

            Break bent to clean his switchblade on the man’s shirt, then pocketed it again. He took a deep breath and turned around as he stood, analyzing the new environment in which he found himself. The entranceway was narrow and lit by blue-white strip lights lining the ceiling, which sloped down along with a set of steep stairs. The passage was meticulously cut, clearly a work of sophisticated architecture, with smooth stone walls free of mildew or moss, and a neat metal railing following the stairs down into oblivion. His heart thundering in his chest, Break loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top two buttons, pulling one of his pistols from its holster and switching off the safety. He gripped it tightly in his left hand, aiming experimentally at a point on the ceiling. Despite the threat of danger looming all around him, Break’s fingers remained steady. He tossed his cane in the air and caught it deftly with his right hand, using his thumb to flip up the top of its head, exposing a wireless sensor there. He pressed his thumb to it and felt a warm jolt as a tiny needle shot into his finger, analyzing his blood to insure his identity. Seemingly satisfied, the weapon gave a minute shudder, and then its body collapsed like liquid. Break shifted his grip on the cane’s head carefully, then flicked his wrist experimentally towards the wall. As he knew it would, the previously stiff cane shot out like a whip, gouging a thin slice from the stone beside him. Break smiled. The cane was a weapon that had been designed especially for him when he’d earned his 007 rank. It had three modes, functioning as a normal cane, a thin, deadly sword, and as a malleable bladed whip at the press of a secret trigger on its side. As he started down the stairs, Break flicked his thumb on the trigger and the whip straightened on instant into a sabre.

            Break backed against the wall, edging down the last few steps as quietly and carefully as he could. A well-lit hallway stretched in both directions at the bottom of them, one direction leading further downwards and the other leveling off and curving away to the left. The sloping side drew Break’s attention, and he stared at it eagerly, watching and listening for any signs of movement. A sudden sound of footsteps from the other direction made Break whip around just in time to see three guards coming down the hall towards him, engaged in a deep conversation. Break darted for the stairs, hoping to escape before they caught sight of him, but it was no use. One of the men spotted Break and raised his gun immediately. The other two followed suit without hesitation, and before he’d even had time to move a step, Break was under fire. A bullet whizzed past his head, so close to his ear that Break imagined he could feel its heat on his cheek. Thinking quickly, Break jumped backwards into the stairwell, managing to only half trip on the bottom stair. He heard the thundering sound of the gunmen’s footsteps approaching, and more distant shouting that signaled he’d soon have more opponents to deal with. Break leaned his cane against the wall, then took his pistol in both hands and leaned out into the hallway. Immediately, one of the gunmen began to fire again. His heart thundering in his ears, Break dropped to his knees and took his first shot. He missed his mark and struck the firing gunman in the shoulder instead of the head. The man bellowed in rage, pausing for a moment to double over in agony before raising his gun once more and continuing to fire. He was leading a pack of what was now six gunmen, all of whom were busy loading rifles or shouting at one another as they ran at Break. He was out of time, and out of options. _You can’t afford to miss a shot 00 fuck-up!_ It was Cheryl’s voice in Break’s head, irksomely prim and arrogant as always. And instantly infuriating. Fueled by his loathing at his boss’s imagined criticism, Break leaned out into the hallway. He took three shots in quick succession, and this time three gunmen went down. “Take that, you old bag,” Break muttered to himself as he took a fourth shot, which struck a fourth gunman in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.

            Still somehow undeterred by their comrades falling all around them, two gunmen were still charging at Break, screaming at him to stop where he was or they’d fire. Break ducked calmly back into the stairwell, taking the time to tuck his pistol away carefully before picking up his cane and descending once more to the bottom stair. He switched its mode and it fell limp immediately, the edges of the whip sharp and keen. Break waited almost eagerly, his highly-trained ears picking up easily on the gunmen’s distance based on the sound of their footsteps. _Three…two…one…zero…_ Break counted in his head. When he reached the final number, he whirled out of the stairwell and into the hallway, bringing the whip across his body in a long, arcing motion. He caught the first gunman right where he’d intended, across the eyes. While he stopped to scream, Break switched the weapon’s mode again and drove forward into the man with a hard thrust of his sword, impaling him through the stomach. The weapon softened into a whip once more under another press of the button and Break slashed the man’s throat with another sweeping movement. The last gunman, fueled by either some sort of drugs or sheer adrenaline, abandoned his rifle on the ground in favor of a machete at his belt. Break smiled as he drew near and raised it over his head with a furious scream. One careful twist of Break’s wrist and he had the man’s arm entangled in his wrist. A hard tug and the man’s weapon-bearing hand became nothing more than a bleeding mess. Break drew him near as he screamed, plucking the machete easily from his hand as he screamed in agony. He tossed it a few times, considering the weight and balance of it while the gunman continued to shriek in his whip’s cruel grip. Finally deciding he liked the weapon, Break turned to the gunman with a casual smile.

            “Thanks so much,” he said politely. The man’s throat opened beneath his own machete’s blade, the cut so deep it nearly severed his entire head. As he fell, Break snapped his wrist and his whip came free of the man’s eviscerated hand. He gave no more thought to stepping over the body than he would stepping over a sleeping dog, and continued down the hallway. He could already hear the sounds of more footsteps approaching, and began to scan the hallway for hideout locations long before he needed one. Spotting a natural dip in the stone wall, Break ducked into it as the sound of footsteps grew louder. He listened intently once more, then extended his arm at the last second, bracing his elbow, as three more gunmen ran by. One ran straight into his outstretched machete, effectively slicing through everything but the bone in his upper left arm. He didn’t have time to scream before Break twisted from the alcove, his footwork impeccable as he cut the man’s throat with a smooth motion of the machete and caught another man across the chest with his whip. With the first gunman having fallen, Break had attention to devote to the third. As he took another swipe at the already bleeding soldier with his whip, Break lunged out and delivered a solid kick to the stomach to the still unharmed gunman. The man was bigger than the others, and was deterred but didn’t stop. Panicking, Break backed away a step and tossed the machete aside. Just as the large man was lifting a rifle, Break managed to get his hand beneath his shirt again and seize one of the two pistols there. He brought the gun out and shot the man in the head only half a second before he would have pulled his own trigger. Unwilling to take more chances, Break dealt with the already bleeding gunman in the same way. Then he stood in silence. There were no more footsteps, no more shouts…it was eerily quiet.

            Break pressed his back against the wall, keeping his gun and sword both drawn as he continued to creep down the hallway. A hundred more yards and no more footsteps. No signs of life. Break had just begun to wonder if he were mistaken about Jackrabbit’s location after all when he made a turn around an abrupt corner and came face to face with four more gunmen standing before a heavy door. Three were armed as he’d seen them thus far, with simple rifles. Those, Break dealt with in three easy shots, moving along the line of them almost before they had time to notice him. He was aiming to take his fourth shot when a sudden wave of terror went through him. He gave a choked gasp and bolted back behind the wall, barely managing to scrabble out of the way in time before a blast of flame shot from the flamethrower the man carried, charring the floor where he’d just been standing.  Break’s heart roared in his ears and his breathing came in quick, almost choked gasps. _Holy shit… **that** certainly wasn’t in the briefing…_Break thought. He heard the sound of a rifle cocking from around the corner and swallowed nervously. The man was not only better armed, but far more formidable than any of the others he’d faced in the underground den thus far. If the door he’d seen led to Jackrabbit, or to the ring’s boss, then this man was their last line of defense, and no doubt armed to the teeth.

            “At least it isn’t Raven…at least it isn’t Raven…” Break reminded himself. He repeated the phrase like a mantra as his mind began to work around the situation, trying to formulate a plan. He poked his head experimentally around the corner for a moment and was met almost immediately with another burst of flame, which he barely managed to avoid as he ducked away madly again. He could hear the man fiddling once again with a weapon, probably a complicated rifle by the sound of it. Thinking quickly, Break reached into his back pocket and produced the interface he’d stolen from Raven. The screen was sleek and reflective, and Break held it up above his head, doing his best to angle it so he could see the man’s movements. His heart dropped into his stomach almost immediately. What the man was assembling was a mounted machine gun, something that Break knew he had no chance of winning against if it were fully assembled. He ground his teeth in frustration. Then, miraculously, something caught his eye. “Huh,” he said aloud. The tunnel he’d followed had been long, and must have led out from under L’Abyss and beneath some nearby houses. It was barely visible in Break’s makeshift mirror, but the bottom of a long, cylindrical pipeline protruded from the ceiling almost directly above the man’s head. Break dared another peek out into the hall, and before the flames could jet out to force him back again he managed to read the word “eau” written in faded blue paint on its surface. He smiled. It was a water pipe, one that probably led to the houses overhead. Break took a deep breath, tucking his cane carefully under his arm and bracing his pistol in both hands. He would only have one shot. Just as the last piece of the machine gun clicked into place, Break whipped around the corner, daring to take a full step into the hallway beyond. He aimed at the pipe and took the shot. The moment hovered, tense and breathless, while he waited for his bullet to hit its mark. In the way time has of slowing down at moments like these, Break could already see the gunman reaching for the trigger on his flamethrower again, and understood in a hideous moment of clarity that he was too far from the shelter of his hallway to avoid being hit by the time the bullet sang directly into place. The pressure of water and earth from above proved too much for the rusted pipe, just as Break had hoped. The whole pipeline collapsed outwards, drenching the entire hallway and rendering both the gunman’s flame thrower and machine gun useless. He gave a cry as the thick torrent of water fell down upon him, but Break paid it no mind. He had already begun to charge, taking the cane from beneath his arm as he did. He jumped at the man, hitting him hard with a double-legged kick to the chest, then latching onto him with a firm grip. The force of Break’s impact sent the gunman stumbling back into the wooden door. Much to Break’s complete surprise, the door was far less sturdy than it looked. It collapsed inwards beneath the force of their combined weight, sending them sprawling to the floor in the room beyond. The man’s cry was cut hideously short as Break’s cane found its way into his throat, impaling him with such force that his cane stuck in the ground.

            The dust of the door’s splintering settled around Break as the heavy-set man twitched and finally settled beneath him. He righted himself with satisfaction, pulling his cane from the man’s throat and snapping it to his side. Then he looked up. A coy, satisfied smile spread immediately on his lips. Two people sat across the room, at a low table, with a large pile of white powder and several boxes of brightly-colored pills between them. One of them was immediately recognizable as the ring’s boss. He was tall and dark, with a pattern of spiderwebbing scars on his shaved scalp, and a jaw sharper than iron. His thickly muscular arms were crossed, and even seated he was nearly as tall as Break. A large assault rifle sat propped against the wall behind him, and a knife nearly as large as the machete Break had left in the hallway dangled at his belt. Break paid him almost no mind, his gaze immediately drawn instead to the second figure.

            He was tall and thinly built, his long legs crossed neatly under the table and his hands folded before him on its surface. He was dressed brazenly, in a pair of tight red pants rolled to his ankles and a light grey suit jacket over a lavender shirt paired with a red tie as blazingly red as his pants. His blond hair was an artful tangle around his face, like he’d shaken it dry after a swim in the ocean and put little more thought into it than that. He had large green eyes and thin lips that tugged down just slightly at one corner, giving him an air of slight dissatisfaction. He was staring at Break with a look of absolute malice, his hands already beginning to tremble on the table before him. But it was not the quake of a coward’s hands. There was wrath in the gesture. Break took a step forward, passing over the dead man’s body and swinging his cane in a casual arc, resting it easily on his shoulder.

            “Hello, Oz Vessalius,” he said sweetly. The look of hatred on Oz’s face deepened. Break simpered at him. “Or do you prefer…Jackrabbit?”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So, SO sorry for the long break in updates. I'm studying abroad this semester, so accessing wifi has been a real challenge. Expect 2 or 3 chapters in the next few days. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Some depictions of violence in this chapter, just so you're aware!

“Hello Oz Vessalius,” the albino man’s eyes glinted smugly as he took another step into the room, reading the look of utter fury on Oz’s face. “Oh, I’m sorry…do you prefer Jackrabbit?”

            Oz sat glued to the table, his hands trembling in rage, his face composed into a searing expression overrun with that same emotion. The initial shock of the door’s collapse and the violent death of one of his most highly ranking Haitian employees had faded almost instantly, only to be replaced by a strange mixture of emotions as he’d taken stock of the deftness and controlled practice with which the albino moved and carried his sword. By the time he heard his name fall from the short, thin man’s lips his brain and body had become an absolute war of fear and rage. He was familiar with the anger, but the fear took him by surprise.

            As though he could read the exact source of Oz’s terror, the man put his head to one side, still smiling, and spoke. “Where’s your Raven?” he asked in mock horror.

            Oz ground his teeth. _That’s my question exactly. I tracked him right here to this fucking –_ a sudden wash of clarity went over Oz. _Oh._ He looked the newcomer up and down. _Suave, nice clothes, cocky as hell, needs a haircut…He couldn’t be more Raven’s type if he tried._ Oz took a deep breath, doing his best to keep his anger in check. “How do you know my Raven isn’t standing right behind you?” He shifted his gaze to a point over the albino’s shoulder and gave a small, sharp nod, as though he were giving an order to an unseen assailant. It was a desperate bid, a prayer that somehow he had ben wrong, that Raven had been managing shipments and intimidating employees rather than under some spell of this chic newcomer’s. But the man didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder.

            “I bet that’s worked on other people,” the man said with a sigh. His relaxed brow furrowed in an instant and he reached beneath his shirt, producing a pistol from a hidden holster. He pointed it straight at Oz. “Do us both a favor and stop reaching for that gun you’ve got hidden under the table, Oz. Even if I didn’t blow your hand off before you got to it, I doubt you’re a good enough shot to hit me. Especially not if I were moving.”

            Oz stilled his hand, leaning back in his chair and reaching up instead to remove his tie in one smooth motion. He took it between his hands and began pulling at it aggressively, narrowing his eyes at the stranger. He gave a tired sigh and shook his head, biting back a well of worry and irritation. “Raven always was a sucker for assholes...” he put his head to one side. “So tell me, which agency sent you? CIA? Interpol? One of my rivals?” He looked the man up and down. “You’re far too capable to be one of Hunter’s men, and I can’t imagine anyone else being stupid enough to send someone after me,” he said.

            The man gave a triumphant smile. “What, Raven usually give them some trouble?” he asked.

            Oz stiffened, tugging harder on his tie. When he spoke again his voice was as hard as steel and cold. “Who sent you?” he repeated.

            “M-16,” the man said. “Agent Xerxes Break, 007. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

            “ _007?_ ” Oz echoed in disbelief. His stomach dropped and he forced calm on himself as he spoke. “What do you want?” he asked, struggling to keep the fear beginning to creep into the edges of his consciousness from overtaking his voice.

Break shifted his gun as the drug dealer across from Oz began to reach for his weapon. The man stilled immediately, and another barb of anger went through Oz. The agent turned cold, carmine eyes back on him and put that infuriating little smile back in place, as cool and collected as a pool of still water. “My agency wants to you rotting in prison, and Raven alongside you, for the sale, distribution, and manufacture of illegal substances and the murders of countless agents sent to intercept you for those crimes...but me? I want something a little different. Your father. Dead. And I’m going to use you to make that happen. I’ll take out this ring, sure, there don’t seem to be many of your employees left alive to maintain it. But bringing you in for questioning? Nah. You’re coming with me, you little prick,” he said.

Oz laughed, shaking his head, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. “Oh, you’re going to hold me for ransom, are you? You think you’re the first to try that? My father doesn’t give two shits whether I’m alive or dead,” he replied casually.

“But he does give two shits about this cute little international drug dealing habit you’ve got being brought into the public eye, doesn’t he? It’s only a step from your indictment to an investigation of him, and something tells me the skeletons in your closet are child’s play compared to the ones in his. There are rumors he’s got ties in human trafficking. Can’t see that being very good for business...” Break said coolly.

            Oz ground his teeth. Other agents have tried at Break’s plan, holding Oz for ransom in an attempt to extort money from his father, Zai. But Zai’s almost vicious lack of affection for his son always made sure those attempts were in vain, leaving his captors first penniless and then violently killed once Raven caught up with them. But on the threat of revealing not only Oz’s connection with the black market, but his supposed own, Oz knows his father would pay any sum of money. _He got to me through Raven, the one man I trust to watch my back. He’s a good enough fighter to have killed some of my top employees in the world. He already knows my father hates me but he’s found a way to hold me for ransom anyway..._ Oz’s face spread into a small smile, and he tossed his tie on the table, leaning an elbow beside it. “Fucking finally,” he said casually.

            The agent’s face betrayed a moment of confusion, which was replaced with shock almost immediately as Oz reached beneath the table once more, chancing another grab for the gun he had hidden there. He whipped it out, holding it confidently in his right hand, and turned to the large man across the table from him. His finger moved to the trigger without hesitation, and he pulled it smoothly. The ring boss had time for one last, terrified look before the bullet sang from the barrel of Oz’s gun and whammed straight into his forehead. The sound of the gunshot charged around the room just behind it, followed by the solid thump of falling flesh as the dead man collapsed on the table. The wall behind where he’d been sitting had become a wreck of red-grey gore, blood and brain matter spewed across it. At that range, even the handgun Oz had used had managed to blow a sizeable chunk from the man’s head.

            Oz looked ponderously away from the body as it hit the table and bounced slightly, examining a stain on the right sleeve of his jacket. “Shit. Blood on my favorite jacket…what a shame.” He set the gun aside and settled back in his chair, pulling at his tie again as he looked at Break. He gave him a sunny smile, his face all good-natured cheer. “There, that ring’s all taken care of,” he said with a small shrug.

 

 ********************************************************************************************************************************************

           

            Break’s eyes widened and he struggled to keep his mouth from falling open as the drug dealer who’d been seated across the table from Oz fell forward in a wash of blood. Oz’s smile as he turned sent a violent shiver along Break’s spine. _What the fuck is wrong with this kid?_ he wondered nervously. His grip on his cane shifted, and he kept his finger carefully over his own gun’s trigger, just in case. “Why?” he asked as Oz smiled at him.

            Oz’s youthful face hardened terrifyingly in an instant. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, emerald stare boring through Break. “Because I’m just like you, agent Break. I want my father dead. I’m 18 in two weeks, old enough to take over the Vessalius Corporation. He’s the only thing standing in my way,” he said, almost sweetly.

            Break’s eyebrows raised in an impressed expression. “Holy shit, Captain Patricide. That’s cold...” Break mused.

            Oz snickered. “There’s never been any love lost between Zai and I. And as for your plan? Sounds perfect. You hold me for ransom against my father with the threat of releasing information on my businesses on the black market if he doesn’t comply with your demands. I’ll do anything you ask, I’ll even give you a cut of the profits from the first year I’m CEO, just as long as you let Raven come with me and promise that when this is over the two of us can go free,” he said. “Do we have a deal?”

            Break reached back beneath his shirt, replacing his gun in its holster and crossing his arms. He leaned his weight into one hip and raised an eyebrow at Oz. “Sounds to me like a hell of a lot of demands for a captive. What makes you think I’d-“ 

            Break stopped short as a tiny, nearly imperceptible shift in the room’s energy alerted him to the arrival of a silent presence behind him. He whirled, bracing his cane in both of his hands, barely raising it in time to block Raven’s first strike with a long, black-bladed knife. _Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!_ he screamed internally. All the softness and curiosity Break had seen in Raven in their week together had been replaced by a lithe, deadly strength. His honey-colored eyes burned like brands and his face was locked in an expression rife with harshness and violent confidence. The difference in their height and physical strength had never been so apparent to Break as it was as he stumbled back, all his carefully perfected swordsmanship and footwork fleeing his panicked brain in a heart-pounding instant, leaving only the primal need to _get away_. He barely managed to jolt away as Raven’s second blade came up, engaging his sword as he did. He flipped it in his wrist, widening his stance and clinging desperately to any knowledge he could.

            Raven took no time at all to recover from the dodged blow, his arm stopping short instead of carrying through with the gesture as a more amateur fighter’s would have. He was on Break again in an instant, whirling over one shoulder to put power behind a second set of deadly slashes which Break jumped back to avoid rather than trying to combat. Raven considered him a moment, his breathing deep and even, then lunged forward again, this time with a kick aimed at Break’s midsection. Break dropped to his hands and knees to avoid it, sure that an attempt to catch the strike would lead to a broken rib or worse. _Little shit tricked me! He was just waiting for Raven to get back down here!_ Break scolded himself. He sprang forward as Raven’s kick passed over his head, catching him off-guard for just a moment, enough to land a single strike with the blunt point of his disguised cane directly in Raven’s stomach. Raven stumbled back a step, heaving a small cough. He flicked his wrist even as he did, and a vicious throwing knife materialized in his hand. He spun it at Break, who sidestepped and deflected the blade to the ground with a short strike of his cane. His heart pounded in his ears as Raven recovered from the minimal injury and leaped at him again. Break jumped back once more, pressing his thumb to the sensor atop his cane as he did. It became fluid and deadly in his hand, a whip which he flicked at Raven as he drew near. Raven dodged the first crack of Break’s weapon without so much as pausing in his advance. By the time Break flicked it at him again, Raven had secreted the black-bladed knife away into its sheath and drawn a long, thin club from somewhere on his back. Break’s heart seized and nearly stopped as Raven raised the club into Break’s next attack. The last few inches of the whip wrapped around the club, and Raven took a large step forward, twisting his wrist as he did, wrapping the whip around the club more thoroughly and tearing it from Break’s hand as he did. He tossed the cane and club aside without so much as a glance after it and pounced on Break.

            The moment of shock from disarmament left Break too shocked to counter with anything but a feeble attempt at a fisted strike to Raven’s chest. Even as he raised his arm, Break could tell it had been in vain. Raven’s foot shot behind Break’s knee, hooking it and dragging him down. He hit the ground hard, sparks exploding across his brain and his vision going solid black for an instant. By the time he recovered, Raven had straddled him, pinning his legs down, and was pressing that same black-bladed knife to his throat.

Sarcasm was Break’s last defense, and as he looked up into Raven’s darkly glowing gaze, he smiled at him. “Damn, where’s this side of you been all week?” he asked coolly.

Raven considered Break darkly, then turned his wrist, preparing to slash Break’s neck open. Break shut his eyes and ground his teeth, bracing himself against pain and steeling himself to die.

            “Stop.”

            Break’s eyes flew open and relief soared through him as Raven drew the blade away from his throat. Both of them turned to look across the room, to where Oz was still seated casually across the table from the dead dealer.

            “Wow, you two do make a lovely couple,” he continued icily.

            Break heard Raven’s breath catch in his throat as Oz mentioned their time together. He glanced between the two of them, realization dawning on him slowly. “Oh...so that’s how it is...” he said, raising his eyebrows at Raven.

            “Oh don’t worry, it’s not like we’re committed or anything,” Oz continued with a shrug.

            Raven ignored them and returned his stony gaze to Break’s face. He pressed his blade to his throat again. “Who the fuck are you?” he growled.

            “That’s Xerxes Break. The _M-16 agent_ who’s going to help me kill my father.” Oz’s eyes grew cruel as Raven looked up at him, his face a mask of shock. “That’s right, Raven. A government agent. If you were going to sleep with someone else, I wish you’d at least had better taste,” he said coldly.

            “I...” Raven looked down at Break once again, removing the knife from his throat.

            Break smiled up at him. “Sorry, Gilbert. Looks like neither of us are who we said we were...” he said with a shrug.

            Oz stood from his chair, walking a few steps closer to Break, looking down at him mercilessly. “Now, agent Break...do we have a deal? I don’t think I need to tell you what happens next if we don’t...”

            Break looked back up at him as the steely press of Raven’s blade returned to the spot just below his right ear. “Fine,” he said.

            Oz nodded, examining the bloodstain on his sleeve casually. “I knew you’d see things my way,” he said slyly. He turned from Break and Raven, walking briskly towards the door. “Be at the harbor tomorrow night. 7 pm sharp. You’ll know my yacht when you see it.”

            Raven rose to follow Oz as he strode to the door, giving Break a final glare as he did. The black-bladed knife vanished once more into its hiding place, and he bent to retrieve his slashed club as he passed it, tucking it into place in some hidden holster running up and down his back. He tucked his shirt in as he drew up beside Oz, eliminating it entirely from view.

            Oz looked him up and down, his eyes cold. He nodded out the door, and Raven walked ahead. He made to follow him, but turned one last time into the room. “Oh, and one more thing, _agent_. If you ever touch Raven again I’ll blow your brains out, just like I did to that son of a bitch.” The tone of Oz’s voice cut across the space between them, sharp and cold and lethal as a dagger. He nodded to the drug dealer as he spoke, but didn’t even grace Break with another glance. Without waiting for a reply, he swept from the room, Raven following behind him, close as a shadow. 

            Break sat up immediately as soon as they had gone, checking his holster to make sure both of his pistols were in place and kneeling up to reach into his back pocket and feel for his switchblade. He stood and retrieved his cane, snapping it back into its disguised mode with another touch of his thumb to the sensor. He looked around the room again, at the dead body of the man he’d killed upon entering, and the slightly less mangled body of the drug dealer he’d just seen one of the richest and most pretentious little assholes on earth shoot in the head to gain his trust. With a little laugh and a shake of his head, Break exited the room, stepping over the remains of the thick wooden door and dodging around the dripping remains of the water pipe overhead.

            There was no sign of Raven or Oz in the subterranean passageways, or in the now mostly empty club above. Break slipped easily through the small crowd, his cane tapping beside him with each step, and walked out into the night. The streets were empty, the only sound the howling of some dogs further up the road and the low thrum of the deadened music from inside l’Abyss. He turned towards his hotel, chuckling almost triumphantly as he pulled his phone from his pocket. A small blue keyboard appeared onscreen as he tapped the center button three times. He entered a complex set of numbers and the phone chirped.

            “State your name and rank,” the familiar robotic voice demanded.

            “Xerxes Break, 007,” Break said lowly.

            “Identification recognized. Awaiting further instructions.”

            Break smiled. “Make a call. Status: Urgent. To Cheryl Rainsworth,” he said.

            The screen blinked to black and Break raised the phone to his ear. It rang twice, then stopped.

            “007? What’d you fuck up this time?” Cheryl demanded harshly.

            Break stopped on a street corner, leaning against a lamppost and looking out over the city as it sank towards the ocean. “Absolutely nothing, Cheryl. I got him,” Break said confidently.

            The line was silent for a few seconds as Cheryl contemplated his words. “What?!” When she spoke again, her voice burst forth from the phone so loudly that Break pulled it away from his ear. “Where are you? When will you be back to HQ? Is Raven with him?” she demanded.

            “Oooooh, there’s the problem...” Break said, feigning reluctance. “See, I’m not exactly coming straight back to headquarters...”

            Cheryl barked a harsh laugh. “You bet your ass you are,” she snapped. “If you’ve got Jackrabbit in custody and you’re not _already_ on your way back then you’re looking at strict discipline, 007...”

            “Then I guess I’m grounded,” Break said. “I’m holding Oz for ransom...and going after Zai.”

            “No you most certainly are _not_!” Cheryl screamed. “We’ve got agents pursuing Zai and his associates already. I repeat, 007, you are to bring Jackrabbit and Raven here for questioning. _Now._ ” The cold insistence in Cheryl’s voice was harsh and familiar.

            “No can do, Cheryl. Just thought I’d let you know not to expect me home for dinner,” Break said as he pushed himself off the lamppost and began to walk once more.

            “Break, if this is about Natalia’s death there are other ways to-“

            Cheryl’s voice slammed into silence as Break ended the call. He turned the phone over in his hand, then tossed it sideways into a patch of high, unkempt grass beside the street. “Whoops,” he said casually. The ring on his right pinky – equipped with a tracker just like the phone had been – went next, into a storm drain. He stopped between two more streetlights and reached into his back pocket for his switchblade. Steeling himself, he opened the blade and reached behind his head, feeling for the familiar hardness at the base of his skull. Once he’d found it, barely a centimeter in length, he closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and dug his knife into his own flesh. The cut was deep, but short, and Break felt the blade scrape against the tiny implanted microchip just below his hairline. Pain roared through him as he reached up with his other hand and tugged on one of the wires, extracting the chip in a few half-hesitant tugs. When it was out, he stood considering it for a few moments, the twisted, bloody wires and rectangular chip that had connected him to his identity as 007. Without it, he was outside of M-16’s reach. If anything went wrong on this mission, he was on his own. Break tipped his hand, sending the chip clacking to the sidewalk beside a dusty house. “Whoops...” he repeated again.

            He set off towards his hotel, trying to ignore the blood he could feel trickling from the back of his neck onto the collar of his shirt. He reached up and pressed a hand to his heart, to a small locket that hung against his ribcage. A pang of sadness, shortly followed by another of determination, went through Break. _For you_...he thought sadly, clutching at the necklace through the fabric of his shirt.

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few mild descriptions of sexual scenarios in this chapter, just so you're all aware. Happy reading!

Break arrived at the docks the next night with his single battered suitcase, his cane, and one of Raven’s shirts – left at his hotel room – in hand. Unlike the walk down the docks he’d made on his first day in Haiti a week before, this one was slow and undetermined, accompanied by the echoes of sunset filling the air alongside the cries of gulls. He’d shed his suit from the night before, and walked the pier in the same cool lavender shirt and khakis that he’d arrived in. His neck still ached from where he’d pulled the chip from it the night before, and he felt shockingly naked without either the ring all M-16 agents wore, electronically emblazoned with their identities. But each time doubt began to creep into him Break reached up and pressed his hand once more to the silver locket around his neck. The coolness there provided reassurance each time he touched it.

            As Oz had promised, his yacht was far from hard to spot. Break noticed it as he neared the end of the harbor, lurking out at the far end of one of the piers. He shook his head in disbelief, blinking a few times, sure his eyes must be deceiving him. He turned down the pier, irritation and disbelief growing with every step. Eventually he stood before the yacht, which towered at least 30 feet out of the water. It was gorgeously crafted and stood out like a diamond among the casual sailboats and smaller yachts around it. It was solid black, sleek and sharp, with the letters of its name, SCYTHE, emblazoned in solid gold along the side of its prow. A small gold rabbit, recognizable as Jackrabbit’s insignia to those who knew what they were looking at, gleamed harshly at the end of the word.

            Though a gangway had been lowered, there was no staff aboard to greet Break as he climbed it. The deck was wide and empty as Break looked around, several chairs spread around a small pool near the stern, the bow home to another wide sitting area. Break hopped down onto the deck, peering first one way and then the other with the hopes of a sign as to where to go. An open door into the yacht’s interior drew his attention, and he turned towards it. Break followed a short set of stairs downwards, and emerged into a luxurious sitting room. Everything within was decorated stark white, in direct and beautiful contrast to the inky walls. The floor was immaculately kept carpet, and three or four small leather sofas and armchairs were bolted to the ground, artfully arranged to provide views of both the giant flat screen television that dominated one wall, and the bay windows that dominated another. The furniture was sleek and modern, as were the appliances in the kitchenette that connected directly onto the sitting room. Break leaned his suitcase against the wall and strode further into the room, looking around the silent, well-lit space. A spark of impossibly bright color caught Break’s eye and he walked to the wall across the room. A single gorgeously taken photograph hung in the center of it, the print large and perfectly made, high quality enough to reveal all the rich tones and hues of the array of colors within the solid black frame. It showed a sunset, far more glorious than the one going on through the windows, over an ocean. A small figure stood silhouetted against the thick strip of beach visible in the bottom of the photograph, clearly a child. A precise hand had written “New Zealand, July 7th,        2004” in the bottom left-hand corner. Break leaned closer, examining the teals and peach-purples of the sunset, the raised hand of the figure in the foreground, the contrast of his black silhouette against the richness of the ocean behind him.

            A sudden shout, a shocking upset to the surrounding silence, made Break turn sharply over his shoulder. His hair stood on end and his hand dropped almost subconsciously to his back right pocket, where he kept his switchblade. His face softened into a knowing smile and his hand relaxed back to his side as a second cry followed, this one softer, more distinct. Recognizable.

            The sounds were coming from a closed door about halfway down a long hallway extending from the kitchenette behind the living room. Break left the photograph, his hands dropping into his pockets as he walked across the soft carpet, skirting down the hallway to the left of the kitchen. Another photograph hung on the wall opposite the kitchen, this one equally bright, displaying a second sunset. This one was framed by the presence of a window in the shot. The distinctive cityscape of Budapest spread out through it. A figure – this one noticeably far older than the one in the first – perched in the windowsill, his posture relaxed, his face turned out the window. Though he was in silhouette, like the other figure, a glint of sun on his golden hair and the confident, draped look permeating his long limbs revealed it as unmistakably Oz. This one had been marked as well, in that same careful writing. “Hungary, May 3rd, 2011”. Break paused for a moment to examine it, before a gasping cry from beyond the closed door drew him down the hallway. He left the photograph behind and walked towards it. He stopped outside, leaning in a little to listen.

            “Oz... _Oz!_ ” a familiar, breathy voice panted. Break smiled. _Damn, you work fast, Raven..._ he thought wryly. Another shouted rendition of Oz’s name made its way through the door, along with a thump and the sound of shifting fabric. Break raised an eyebrow, then turned over his shoulder and strode back the way he’d come, leaving the couple alone.

A third photograph caught his eye, this one mounted on the wall above a white side table near the door to the deck. Break walked over to it, tossing Raven’s shirt casually onto the table as he crossed his arms and examined it. Unlike the other two, this one had no distinct figures present. It was taken from a somewhat strange angle, the photographer’s head clearly tilted back to capture their subject. About a third of the photograph showed a neatly tended garden, juniper and rose bushes lining gravel paths, a small fountain trickling off to one side. But the focal point of the shot hovered about halfway up. A sweeping balcony, on which three sets of glass double doors from a massive house in the background opened. What was visible of the balcony was richly lit from within the house, and a crowd of partygoers was clearly distinguishable inside. Break tipped his head as he considered it. The scene was vibrantly colored, with an air of excitement and the luster of wealth emanating from the party. Bu the viewer was alienated, left in the dark of the garden. Break reached out and touched the photo, placing his hand in the center of one of the paths, tracing it up to the staircase leading down into the garden from the balcony. He turned for a moment to look at the other photo, the one from New Zealand. _That one’s hopeful. And the one from Hungary’s happy...but this feels sad._ He turned back to look for the careful writing in the bottom left corner. It read “Belgium, April 21st, 2008”.

He studied it for a long while, the nuances of light and shadow captured by a clearly expert hand. The light around him faded from peach-orange into a darker shade of magenta, then to near-absent violet. The noises from the bedroom slowed and then stopped. Automated lights in the main cabin winked on at some point as the world outside darkened, illuminating the photograph in more detail and washing the room around it in dim, orange-ish light. Break leaned closer, squinting at something he hadn’t noticed before. It was a stone bench, so far to one side that it was nearly cropped entirely out of the frame. A single shape, this one entirely immersed in shadow, sat on the bench, its legs crossed and the silhouette of a tumble of long, blond hair visible around its shoulders. Break reached out to touch it. The air of something like a heavy secret permeated the moment as Break’s pale index finger grazed against the immutable, shadowy figure.

            The sound of a door slamming made him turn, his hand dropping instinctively from the photograph into the pocket where he kept his switchblade. He relaxed instantly, leaning back on the table as Oz strode down the hallway and rounded into the living room. He was shirtless, and his tanned skin shone in the whitish light being thrown around the cabin. He was looking down at a small device in his hands and didn’t notice Break as he entered the room.

            “Oz, you _can’t_!” It was Raven’s voice, urgent and quiet, from somewhere around the corner.

            Oz whipped around to face its origin point, jamming the device into his pocket and throwing out his hands in an accusatory gesture. “No, _you_ can’t. That’s why I had to get someone else to help me!” he snapped sharply.

            Raven’s voice grew in volume as he approached, still out of view. “He’s going to know you’re coming! He has ears and eyes _everywhere_ , Oz!” His tone was panicked, his voice low and desperate.

            Oz whipped around, a sharp retort budding on his lips. He caught sight of Break and his expression shifted, the palpable rage still flooding through his trim frame but his mouth composing itself into a dark little smile. He noticed Break’s eyes tracing his body and took a step closer, his hands slipping into the pockets of the low-hanging black running pants he was wearing. “You’re here,” he remarked casually as he took a few long, casual steps across the room. He dropped into one of the plush white chairs, tossing his legs casually over the arm and leaning his head back, his stern emerald gaze never leaving Break’s face.

            Raven rounded the corner into the room and stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of Break. Break gave him a sweet, coy smile and reached behind him onto the table. He tossed Raven’s shirt to him, almost directly over Oz’s head. “You left this at my place,” he said slyly.

            Raven’s face ignited immediately into a blush and his eyes locked on the back of Oz’s head, visible from his position around the side of the chair. He offered Break no reply, but hurried across the room and sank into a couch near Oz’s chair. Break followed Raven’s path with his eyes.

            Break’s voice shattered a moment of silence that had descended on the room as Raven settled. “Beautiful photographs. You’re very talented,” he said, looking across the room at the sunset visible against the smooth, night-dark wall.

            “I didn’t take them,” Oz replied sharply.

            Break glanced at him. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he said. He turned his head, his eyes settling on Raven.

            Raven blinked in surprise, his cheeks igniting again. “Tha-thank you...” he said uncertainly.

            “You’re here as a mercenary, not an art critic,” Oz snapped. He considered Break harshly. “M-16 doesn’t fuck around, I’m sure they tag all their agents. If you have an implanted tracker, someone has to cut it out...” Oz nodded suggestively at Raven.

            “Taken care of,” Break said. He turned momentarily, exposing the back of his neck to Oz. The small wound there had scabbed over, leaving a dark, crusted mark against his hairline.

            Oz nodded. “Impressive. I thought I’d have to fight you on that one. Most agents wouldn’t give their organization up that easily...” he said.

Break shrugged, pushing himself off the table and walking a few steps towards Oz and Raven. “I’m not a very good agent,” he remarked casually.

Oz’s face lilted back into a sinister smile. He shifted his posture in his chair in order to pull something from his pocket. “Well I hope you’re a good poker player,” he said as he tossed it to Break.

            The small, gold object glittered through the air as it crossed the space between them. Break reached out and caught it deftly. It was no larger or thicker than a credit card, but bore the surprising weight of real gold. Break turned it over between his hands. An insignia was etched directly into he metal on one side. The four corners of the small card had been stamped with a heart, a diamond, a club, and a spade and an ornate, spiked circle resembling a roulette wheel filled its center. A glittering letter, **_V_** _,_ was written in sloping cursive inside the circle, and a few words stretched across the bottom of the card in the same curling, elegant font. **_Casino Royale_** _._

Break’s eyes widened. He looked up at Oz in disbelief. “Casino Royale?” he asked. “ _The_ Casino Royale?”

            Raven’s attention snapped from where it had wandered out the window and fixed on Oz. “You’re fucking kidding me. Are you _insane,_ Oz?!” he demanded.

            Oz rounded on Raven with a sharp glare. “No, I’m not kidding you.” He turned on Break, his voice cold and detached. “My family’s owned that casino since it was built, and it’s been my – “

            Break interrupted him. “It’s been your father’s center of black market operations for the past twenty-five years,” he finished.

            “You’ve done your research,” Oz commented. “I thought you said you weren’t a very good agent.”

            “I’m not,” Break replied. He crossed his arms, reaching up for a moment to touch the locket beneath his shirt. “This isn’t about my agency.”

            Oz shifted again, pulling his legs from the arm of the chair and folding them beneath him, leaning forward onto his elbows and resting his chin on his interlocked fingers. “What is it about, then?” he asked. His gaze bore into Break.

            Break looked at him with narrowed eyes and a quietly defiant expression. “That’s my business,” he said lowly. He looked down at the card in his hand again, spinning it between his fingers.

            A rap on the wall near the door to the deck made Oz, Raven, and Break all turn. A short, middle-aged man leaned down the stairs and gives Oz a courteous nod. “Mr. Vessalius? The ship’s been checked out of port and customs, as you asked, sir. We’re ready to be underway to Monte Carlo,” he said, serious and business-like. 

            Oz nodded curtly. “Thank you, captain,” Oz gestured to Break. “My guest’s already arrived, so nothing’s keeping us. Set sail as soon as possible,” he instructed.

            The captain bowed out of the room, leaving the three of them alone again.

            The moment he did, Raven turned to Oz and spoke up again. “Oz, there _has_ to be another way to do this. Monte Carlo is Zai’s _base of operations_! You think he won’t post his most dangerous men in the place where he has the most to lose?!” he said, his voice heavy and desperate.

            “It’s the best chance we have!” Oz argued. “I don’t think I need to tell you how extensive and well-trained the security detail at the Manor is. And if he really does have his most dangerous men in Monte Carlo then the chances of him bringing Manor guards with him is a hell of a lot slimmer than it would be anywhere else. It’s the _only_ way, Raven,” Oz said more seriously.

            Raven’s face quieted and he turned from Oz, removing a cigarette from behind his ear and igniting it with a lighter produced from his pocket. He offered no reply.

            “I don’t know why you’re so against this,” Oz said lowly.

            Raven shook his head, taking a long inhale and blowing out smoke before he answered. “Because he’s a dangerous man, Oz. And we both know he won’t hesitate to hurt you when he finds out you’ve betrayed him,” he replied quietly.

            A low thrum rose through the hull as the ship began to pull out of port. Break leaned back against the table, steadying himself, and looked up through the windows across the room as the harbor began to melt slowly by. _Well, no going back now..._ he thought with a touch of apprehension. He reached up to touch his necklace again, his eyes fixed on a point on the distant horizon. Oz and Raven were still speaking lowly, Oz’s voice sharp and uncompromising and Raven’s soft and concerned. The conversation drew Break’s attention once more at a loud exclamation from Oz, who rose abruptly to his feet as he spoke, throwing his hands wide.

            “I don’t owe him _anything!_ All he’s ever done is stand in my way. He doesn’t even _like_ me, why the hell would I feel bad for not liking him right the fuck back? This is happening, Raven, and it’s happening _now_. We’ll be docking at Monte Carlo in three days...So you have three days to decide if you want to get on board and protect me like you _promised_ you always would or sit by and let someone else do the work for you!” Oz whipped around as he finished speaking, storming from the living room and back down the hall where he’d emerged from. The sound of a door slamming behind him made Raven jump.

            Break pushed himself off the table as Oz disappeared, meandering about the center of the lightly rocking room, hands in his pockets. “Well he’s not exactly the cheery little genius the papers make him out to be, is he?” Break commented mildly.

            Raven’s eyes locked on Break, a cool, determined fire in them. “Agent Break, you keep him safe or so help me _God_ I’ll kill you myself,” he said, ignoring Break’s flippant question.

            Break turned over his shoulder and met Raven’s eyes, tipping his head to one side. “You really love him, don’t you?” he asked quietly.

            “More than you could ever understand,” Raven replied.

            A moment of heavy quiet hung in the air between them. Raven shook his head and looked away.

“I didn’t say he felt the same way about me...” he said quietly, answering the unasked question that hovered in the air between them. “It’s like he said last night. We’re not committed. Sure we sleep together, but it’s barely more than that...it can’t be more than that...”

Break considered Raven, the melancholy and lethal grace that warred about his broad shoulders, the almost forced-seeming distance that lingered throughout his face, the steadiness with which he held himself on the rocking ship. “Because you’re Gilbert Richardson? Because you’re supposed to be his valet?” he asked delicately.

“Yeah,” Raven said with a sigh. “Because I’m Gilbert...and because Oz has an image to maintain. If Zai knew about us...he’d be furious.”

Another long minute of silence descended. Break turned from Raven to look back out at the ocean, the last few lights of the harbor flicking by as they headed out into the night. He reached almost absently into his pocket, producing a butterscotch candy, which he unwrapped and popped into his mouth. Raven’s eyes followed the gesture and Break reached back into his pocket, producing a second one. “I meant that, about the photographs,” Break said as he tossed it to Raven.

Raven laughed a little bitterly as he caught the candy, rising to his feet and taking the last long pull from his cigarette before he extinguished it in an ashtray on the table. He unwrapped the sweet and popped it into his mouth. “Damn, where’s this side of you been all week?” he jibed. He turned from the living room, making for the hallway where Oz had vanished. “Your cabin’s on the right at the end of the hall. You should get some sleep, agent,” he said as he walked to the door.

“What are you afraid of? At Monte Carlo?” Break asked after him. Raven stopped, but didn’t turn. Break took a step forward and spoke again. “You’re supposed to be the most dangerous man on earth...” he continued in a voice free of insult or implication.

Raven turned over his shoulder, the light within the cabin snatching on his molten gold eyes, illuminating facets of unreadable emotion in them. “This goes deeper than you can _possibly_ imagine, Break...” he whispered, his voice sharp with something eerily akin to fear. He turned back around and walked down the hallway to the cabin he shared with Oz. A rectangle of light illuminated on the floor as he opened the door and entered quietly, then was hushed as he shut it softly behind him.

Break watched after him, his brow furrowed. His eyes flicked from Raven to the photograph of the darkened garden on the wall across the room. “What are you afraid of?” he repeated quietly.

A harsh beam of white light passed across the photo for a moment, sparking across the garden and blazing white as an archangel across the stone bench to one side of the photograph.

The heavily shadowed figure seated there offered no reply.

**************************************************************************************************************************************** 

            It was the morning of their third day at sea. At the captain’s last report they were only four hours or so from Monte Carlo, and the time had come to set their plan in motion.

            “Do we need to go over what you’re going to say again?” Oz asked, leaning his head back as Raven carded his fingers softly through his hair.

            Break looked up from his sword. “Monte Carlo. Come in person. I have Jackrabbit. Give me money or I’ll reveal your son’s black market connections. Blah, blah, blah, go fuck yourself. Sound about right?” Break asked flippantly.

            Raven looked at Break, turning his attention from the window, where he’d been watching the sea go by. “You...you forgot me,” he hazarded. “He won’t come, if he thinks I’m free. He’ll just wait for me to save Oz again.”

            “Correction. I have Jackrabbit _and_ Raven, give me money or else, blah, blah, blah,” he amended with a wave of his sword. “I’ve got it. Let’s go.”

            Oz nodded, then typed a few commands into his laptop. The TV on the wall winked on, mirroring Oz’s laptop’s display. It was a nearly impenetrable tangle of Internet browser windows, open coding scripts, and visual schematics, which Oz minimized with the touch of another key. The background image was another gorgeously shot photograph, this one an up-close shot of a juniper bush, the green of its branches contrasting the blue-grey of its berries. A large, stuffed rabbit leaned back against the bush. Its black fur was rumpled with age, its ears so large they flopped all the way to the ground, bunching in the snow beneath the juniper. Break raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment.

            Oz tapped a few more keys and the screen went black. A thin, green line blinked in the center of it, mirrored on the large flat screen hanging on the wall. Oz typed the word “JUNIPER” into the computer. The letters appeared on the screen above the line, then the whole thing flashed blue. Another line, this one red, appeared in place of the white. Oz typed the word “HEARTBEAT” and the screen flashed blue again. A third line, this one purple, winked onto the screen. Oz typed the word “OSWALD” into the computer and the screen flashed a third time. Finally, a keyboard appeared in the center, instead of a line.

            Break watched curiously as Oz went through the process of typing. “Damn, that’s a hell of a lot of passwords there, Oz. Hiding something?” he asked wryly.

            “It’s an algorithm,” Oz replied as he began punching numbers into the keyboard onscreen using the mouse. “Three of 36 possible passwords are selected. Get one wrong and the whole thing shuts down. The last thing I need is someone hacking my fucking webcam.” He finished punching in the phone number and turned to look at Break. “Let the games begin,” he said with a smile as he pressed the enter key. The screen went black immediately and the computer’s speakers projected a mechanical ringing as the call connected. Break reclined back in his chair, crossing his legs casually and twisting his face into a cunning little smile, his eyes fixed directly on the camera, not the screen below it.

            When the call connected and the black screen was suddenly replaced with a lush office, Break’s coy smile nearly collapsed upon itself into a look of shock. The man sitting on the other end of the webcam, dressed richly in a fine business suit and with a firm scowl in place, was Oz. His emerald eyes and bright blond hair, the already familiar expression of anger that twisted the left-hand corner of his lips down, and even a certain dominant set to his shoulders were all mirrored perfectly at Break as he glanced up across the living room at the young man seated on the couch. A small, well-kempt beard and a set of hard wrinkles around his eyes, as well as a jagged scar that ran from his right temple down to his left cheek were the only distinguishing factors between Zai Vessalius and his son.

            Zai began speaking immediately, thumping his hand down on the desk beside his keyboard and leaning into the computer with his eyes cruelly narrowed. “Oz, how many fucking times do I have to tell you not to – “ he caught sight of Break and sat back in his chair, immediately on guard. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked, his voice gravelly around the syllables.

            “Doesn’t matter,” Break said, turning his sword so it caught the light and running the oilcloth down its length again. “All you need to know is what you can do for me.” Zai attempted to cut him off, but Break spoke over him, launching into the monologue he’d prepared, his voice casual and flippant. “See, I learned something _very_ interesting on my trip to Haiti last week. Turns out your son’s heavy into drug dealing. Somehow that doesn’t exactly fit with the image of the tech-happy, super-genius golden boy the media makes Oz out to be. And it would seem that you – “ Break flicked his sword down and stared directly at Zai onscreen, “are even _heavier_ into all sorts of black market businesses. Weapons dealing and human trafficking are just a _little_ more serious than a few hundred kilos of cocaine smuggled into Haiti. I wonder how many life sentences the UN will give for that shit...” Break smirked as Zai’s face dissolved into disbelief, which was covered quickly by absolute rage. He laid his sword across his knees and leaned forward into the camera, pinning Zai beneath his gaze. “Now, if you don’t want a spotlight shone on the particularly gory array of skeletons that seem to inhabit the Vessalius family closet, I’m going to need something from you...10 million dollars. Delivered to me, _in person_ at the Casino Royale de Monte Carlo’s winter gala party in three days time. In exchange I’ll give you Oz back and keep your little secret.” Break gave a little laugh and tipped his head. “If you kill or harm me, the story runs anyway. I’m not operating alone. I have friends to see to that...Oh, and don’t bother waiting for Raven to come get him back, I’ve got him too. If you-“

            “Bullshit,” Zai cut in, his voice impossibly low.

            His train of thought broken, Break sat back in his chair. “I’m sorry?” he said. “Are you interrupt-“

            “I said...bullshit,” Zai repeated icily.

            Break smiled. His eyes flicked away from the screen and he raised a hand, gesturing.

            Raven caught onto Break’s intent and rose from the couch beside Oz, walking slowly across the living room until he stood beside Break’s chair. He dropped to his knees beside him, looking up at Zai’s face on the screen in silence.

            “Tch,” Zai said, examining Raven like he might an insect. “I thought you were a _fighter_ , Raven. The most dangerous man on earth...Oswald would be disappointed.”

            Raven lowered his head, his hand tightening on the arm of Break’s chair. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said quietly.

            After a moment of tense silence, Break spoke again. “Looks like you have no choice but to accept my demands, doesn’t it Zai? So I’ll see you at the top of the Casino Royale’s grand staircase at 1 am this Saturday, during the party. I don’t think you’ll have much trouble recognizing me. If you don’t come in person, or try to tell anyone about this, expect your son’s face plastered all over the news Sunday morning. Let your employees there know to expect Oz and I in a few hours,” he said.

Break’s words settled over Zai. He ground his teeth and popped his knuckles, his eyes locked on the computer screen. “You’ll regret this...” he replied, his voice even and deadly.

“Only one way to find out,” Break replied. He leaned forward, putting one hand on the top of the laptop, and smiled widely into the camera. “Bye now!”

Break hesitated no longer before he slammed the computer shut, severing the connection and leaving the room flooded with tense, expectant silence.

Raven was on his feet the second the call dropped, whirling away from the living room and starting immediately towards the hallway that led to he and Oz’s bedroom.

“Raven!” Oz said, standing and following in his wake. He ran a few steps to catch up with the larger man and reached out to put a hand on his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Raven...” he repeated.

Raven’s fist clenched but he offered no reply.

“He was wrong,” Oz said to Raven’s back, his eyes fixed on the taller man’s shoulders. “About Oswald.”

Raven turned over his shoulder, his face full of anger and sadness and hurt. He softened as he looked at Oz, reaching out and placing a hand on his head, running it down along the side of his face. “Thank you, Juniper,” he said quietly. His expression softened and he leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on Oz’s forehead.

Oz leaned into the gesture, then tilted his face up and responded with a kiss on Raven’s cheek. “You’re welcome...ворон.” His hand tightened on Raven’s arm before he released him and turned back to Break. “That was fucking _perfect!_ ” he said, his voice cold and excited, almost cruel.

Break stood, his sword whipping through the air beside him and rectifying itself into a graceful cane. He leaned on it as he answered. “Good.” His fingers already itched for combat and a familiar wash of cool, calculating calm came over him at the thought of what was to come. “You really think he’ll come in person?”

Oz’s mouth tipped up at the corners in a wan little smile that was all Jackrabbit. “I think there’s only one way to find out.”

 


	7. Chapter Seven

The Casino Royale de Monte Carlo lounged on the shore in rich ivory marble and glinting gold, her private beach and marina pooling forth into the sea like a glass of spilled champagne. Expansive gardens bubbled around the building, bursting with richly flowering bushes, lustrous palm trees, and trimmed lawns full of white and gold tables, where tanned hotel guests laughed, drank, and mingled. The pool glistered more brightly than a sapphire on a gorgeous tile deck, fanning out towards the ocean in an arching sweep. The very air was drenched with a sense of wealth and a tension bordering almost on the erotic. Diamonds and gold and marble and jade glinted from every surface, and among it all flowed a casual tide of beautiful, well-dressed, high-society patrons.

The light had just taken on the particular frankness of early afternoon when the SCYTHE docked at the casino hotel’s private marina. Oz’s beetle-black ship was a rarity, a cut above even the sleek, gorgeously maintained yachts of the super-elite, and caught the eyes of every patron on the docks, the beach, and the pool deck even before its young owner emerged down the gangway.

But though he was dressed as boldly as ever in a pair of tight white pants and an un-tucked violet dress shirt and carried himself with his typical and impossibly attractive nonchalance, it wasn’t Oz that snatched the crowd’s attention as the SCYTHE’s passengers disembarked. Nor was the crowd focused on Raven, at Oz’s side as ever and operating once more under the guise of his personal valet, Gilbert Richardson.

Instead, every set of eyes that could find him was trained on the thin, sleek albino man who strode down the dock with them, a sophisticated cane tapping beside him and the suggestive hint of a smile on his thin lips. His looks drew the eye immediately, but even more electrifying than his deep crimson eyes or the contrast of his white hair against the livid blue of the sea and sky around him was the casual confidence with which he strode down the docks towards the hotel. Every step was effortless, every coy tilt of his head and tap of his cane liquid and enthralling. So enrapturing was this mysterious, well-dressed stranger to the Casino Royale’s patrons that by the time Break, Oz, and Raven reached the end of the dock and began making their way through the gardens towards the hotel’s main lobby there was not a set of eyes anywhere on the premises that wasn’t locked on them.

Break’s smile widened as he caught the eye of a pretty blond woman lounging on the pool deck beside the hotel’s entrance and gave her a wink.

It was exactly as they had planned.

Though Raven and Oz remained stoic and aloof as they passed through the large, open double doors that led from the pool deck directly into the main lobby, Break had to struggle to keep his jaw from dropping and his eyes from widening. For as impressive as the opulence of the casino hotel’s exterior was, the interior put it to shame. As the three of them entered the main lobby, Break’s gaze was immediately drawn upwards to the ceiling. It was entirely made of glass, ribbed through with polished gold supports in an expanding circular pattern that drew the eye downwards to the richness of the lobby below. Break’s eyes traced along impeccably polished white and pink and green marble balconies, which provided windows into the art-laden walls and wide hallways of the lobby’s second level. Situated directly in the center of the lobby was a wide, circular fountain with a gorgeously carved marble statue at its center, displaying several women dressed in the style of ancient Greece pouring water from deep clay pots into the basin below. More palm trees and flowering hibiscus bushes grew in clusters from indents cut directly into the floor, livening the space and casting shade down on the gorgeous marble tile floor that swept out around it. More tables were arrayed to the fountain’s right in a somewhat artful disarray that led all the way back into a semi-separate restaurant with a beautiful and well-stocked bar and a gorgeous view of the hotel’s gardens out its back windows. The grand staircase where Break was to meet Zai was situated directly across from them as they entered, a gorgeous creation in white marble with a Vessalius green carpet richly embroidered with gold filigree designs in the shape of the casino’s insignia decking its center. It arched as artfully as a swan’s neck, the handrails all in marble and gold and two more statues of the same make as the fountain’s cresting its top. Their arms were draped in an almost beckoning pose, drawing the viewer up the stairs to the absolute wonder that waited at its top: the entrance to the casino proper.

Nothing in the lobby, not the restaurant or the stairs or the ceiling or the fountain drew the eye quite like the set of rich, wooden double doors that opened into the semi-dark world of the casino beyond. The whirling cascade of electronic and human sounds that emerged from it beckoned in half-heard whispers of secret, tantalizing potential and every light blinking from a slot machine or above a dealer’s table seemed a winking eye, flirtatious and alluring and deadly. Two more sets of doors opened onto the lobby’s lower floor, portals to that same separate universe of risk, trade, and chance. And hanging above each set of doors, written in neat, sloping script and inscribed in brilliant gold directly into the marble walls were five words: **_Casino Royale de Monte Carlo._**

Break’s mouth danced up in a smile as he turned from the casino entrance and strode up to the front desk alongside Oz. He leaned on it with both elbows and rested his chin in a raised hand. The woman behind the desk glanced nervously between he and Oz, who strode up alongside him and leaned somewhat moodily back against the front desk, his arms crossed and his face assuming a bored, put upon expression.

“Are you the, uh...the guest Mr. Vessalius is expecting?” the woman asked nervously.

Break gave her a flirty smile. His eyes flicked down to her nametag and then back up to her face. “Yes, I am...Claire,” he purred.

“Oh!” Claire’s face reddened slightly. “Oh, uh, we-welcome to the Casino Royale de Monte Carlo, sir,” she stammered. “And to you, as well, Mr. Vessalius.”

Oz turned over his shoulder to look at Break. “Do you ever stop flirting?” he asked with a sigh.

Claire nodded to Raven. “It’s lovely to see you again, Mr. Richardson.”

Raven nodded back and gave her a small smile. “You too, Claire.”

Claire looked down at her computer and typed in a few short phrases. A minute later she produced two keys, both of which she handed to Break. “You’re in Mr. Vessalius’ private penthouse on the top floor. Do you have any luggage we can assist you with?” she asked.

“Everything’s onboard SCYTHE,” Oz replied before Break could open his mouth. “Will you have it brought upstairs, please?”

Claire nodded, eager to please. Oz gave her a smile in return then pushed himself off the desk and made his way across the lobby without checking to see that Break or Raven were following. Raven set off on Oz’s heels immediately, but Break paused to give Claire another smile. “See you later,” he said. A slight hint of implication in his voice set Claire’s face glowing with a soft pink blush. Break turned and followed after Oz, reawakening his graceful half-smile and languorous movements. By the time he reached the elevator his skin tingled with the feather-light pressure of every pair of eyes in the room on him.

Oz snapped a glare at him as he arrived beside him outside the elevators. “Don’t get carried away, Break,” he said lowly.

Break leaned fluidly against his cane and threw a wink and a smile at a lithe, dark-haired woman passing by across the lobby. When his gaze returned to Oz, the blond teenager’s green eyes were full of fury. Break blinked in mock surprise, feigning innocence. “Whatever do you mean by _that_?” he asked.

The elevator arrived and Oz stalked into it without offering an answer. The ride up to the hotel’s top floor was short and silent, tension boiling between Oz and Break. They reached the penthouse level and a computerized voice chirped over a set of speakers in the elevator.

“Verification, please.” A few lights winked on around a card slot below the elevator buttons.

Oz reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold card identical to the one he’d given Break on his first day aboard SCYTHE. He slid it into the slot and the lights around it blinked green. The elevator door slid open immediately. “You can’t get to the top floor without one of these, so _don’t_ lose the one I gave you,” Oz remarked to Break as they made their way down the short hallway.

There were five doors on the top floor, ornate and spaced far apart along the length of the short hall. Oz passed them all, leading the way to the door situated directly at the end. A gold plaque denoted it “Penthouse 7001”. This door was made of darker wood than the others, with the casino’s logo etched in gold in a pattern on its surface. Break pulled one of the keys from his pocket as he approached and slid it into the slot on the door. The lock clicked immediately and Break pushed the door open.

His jaw dropped almost immediately. The private penthouse absolutely dwarfed every other display of wealth Break had seen in the last few days while in Oz’s company. The main room was decorated similarly to the lobby in that not a surface in it seemed to exist without marble, jade, ivory, or gold covering it. A fully stocked bar and a gorgeous kitchen banked away to the left, along with the open door to an ornate bedroom. The tile floor was polished to an absolute shine, glittering in white marble that reflected the artful gold pillars situated around the sitting room and caught light from the vases of fresh, blooming flowers on the varnished side tables. A set of French doors across the room led directly onto a rooftop deck complete with several lawn chairs and a private pool.

Oz brushed past Break and kicked off his shoes by the door. He walked immediately to the French doors and pulled them open, deeply inhaling the warm air. Raven followed him into the room, shutting the door behind him. He walked to the kitchen and filled a tall glass pulled from a cabinet with cool water. Break took a few more steps into the room, his eyes roving about the luxurious space. “Holy shit...” he said quietly.

“Welcome to my world,” Oz said as he turned from the door. He walked across the room and took the now half empty glass of water from Raven’s hand as he extended it. He drank deeply then set the glass down between them.

Break looked around the space, his face bending in a small smile as he leaned against one of the sofas. The exorbitant wealth of the space sent a surge of intoxicating power rushing through him. “I like it here...”

A knock on the door announced the arrival of their luggage, which was deposited by a scared-looking porter on the floor beside the door. He glanced at Oz, then at Raven then finally chanced a look at Break. Break raised his eyebrows and the man turned immediately on his heel and scuttled from the room. As soon as he was gone, Oz pulled himself to his feet and crossed the room. He slid aside an intricate painting of a seaside landscape, revealing the thick steel door of a safe mounted into the wall. “Go get dressed, Agent Break. Your room’s down the hall by the kitchen,” he said as he began to unlock the safe.

“Dressed? For what?” Break asked.

“The casino. It’s got one of the strictest dress codes on earth.” Oz pulled the safe’s heavy door open and reached an arm inside. He emerged with a massive stack of bills, which he examined casually before turning and placing them on a side table. He reached back into the safe and pulled a second equally large stack of bills out.

Break blinked in stunned surprise for a moment, but it didn’t take long for that same intoxicating rush of power to go through him again, turning his shocked expression back into a small, cunning smile. He pushed himself off the couch, snatched his suitcase, and made his way down the hallway Oz had mentioned and into his ornate bedroom.

He returned fifteen minutes later dressed in a slim-cut dark steely blue suit with a light grey shirt beneath, its collar unbuttoned, with his hair pulled away from his face to expose his deep crimson eyes and high, delicate cheekbones. Even in his sharp dress he was well armed, his pistols stuck back in his shoulder holster beneath his shirt a long, wicked switchblade folded into his back pocket, and his cane – as ever – tapping along at his side. The powerful confidence he’d carried since entering the casino was only heightened by his fine dress, and the moment he entered the room he could feel both Raven’s and Oz’s eyes flick immediately towards him.

They were seated at the kitchen table, Oz on a laptop and Raven sorting meticulously through the stacks of bills, which had doubled in number in the time Break had been gone. Break’s eyes landed on Oz, igniting with a flare that was almost a challenge, and then flicked to Raven. He gave him a wink and a smile, satisfied as Raven blushed slightly and looked back down at the bills on the table in front of him.

Oz bristled. He removed his hand from his laptop’s keyboard and reached across the table, a dominant flare in his eyes as he set his hand gently atop Raven’s. Raven looked down at the touch and then up at Oz.

“Oz...” he said in surprise.

Oz tightened his grip on Raven’s fingers, his eyes narrowing slightly at Break in a look that screamed _back off_. “Are you finished counting those?” he asked Raven, turning his attention to him.

Raven released Oz’s hand after a moment of visible hesitation and turned his attention to the small, neatly organized stacks arrayed on the table before him. “Yeah. 1.12 million. 400k in cash, organized by value, and the rest in chip cards,” he answered confidently, a smile blooming on his face.

Break’s face lit up and he leaned on his cane, considering Oz with his eyebrows raised. “Are you seriously just _handing me_ a million dollars?”

            “1.12 million,” Raven corrected. A calculating light came into his eyes as he considered the spread before him. “The chip cards are worth 720,000 US dollars and the cash is the other 400,000. Calculating for a greater than 98% likelihood of total loss with each turn in a game of chance, like roulette, combined with the statistical improbability of performing at a win rate of more than 18% for longer than 4 hands of poker and other card games...and assuming that a game of roulette takes about 5 minutes and a full game of poker about 30...it should be enough to last you the afternoon.”

            Break blinked a few times in shock, his brain whirring around the numbers. “How...did you know all that...?” he asked, surprised.

            Oz smiled at Raven triumphantly, and Raven raised his eyes and tapped his temple with a finger. “I’m just...good with numbers,” he said with a shrug.

            “Performing complex logarithmic functions in your head does make a neat party trick...” Oz joked, his smile growing fonder.

            Raven laughed a little nervously and raised a hand to run through his hair. He caught the cigarette behind his ear in his fingers and put it between his lips. “Thanks...” he said as he pulled his lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette.

            Break turned back to Oz as Raven began gathering the stacks of money into a brown leather shoulder bag hanging on the back of his chair. “So you want me to make a scene?” he asked with a little smile.

            “Exactly,” Oz affirmed.

            Break’s tipped his head. “More specifically a scene that’ll piss daddy Vessalius the hell off...?” he chanced.

            Oz’s Jackrabbit smile bloomed on his face. “Exactly...” he repeated.

            “Can I keep what’s left when I leave the casino?” Break asked.

 Oz opened his mouth to respond, then let it fall shut. He quirked an eyebrow. “Why don’t we bet on it? If you walk back into this room with more money than you’re leaving with you can keep every cent...If not, then I get it all back. _And_ I get to push you in the fountain in the lobby during the party on Saturday.“ At Break’s shocked expression, Oz’s smile widened. “Are you willing to bet on your poker face, Break? I don’t think you need Raven to tell you the odds probably couldn’t be more against you...” 

            Break tipped his head. “I’ll take that bet,” he said confidently.

            “Good...” Oz pulled himself up from the table and set off across the room towards the pool deck, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. “Best of luck, agent Break,” he said as he pulled his shirt from his shoulders and disappeared through the French doors onto the pool deck. A loud splash resounded through the room a few seconds later.

            Break watched after Oz until he vanished then turned back to Raven, who extended the brown shoulder bag full of currency to him. He smiled as he slung it over his shoulder. “So...just what exactly are my odds of winning Oz’s little game?”

            “Short of doing the actual calculations...and based on the kind of high stakes gambler you seem to be I’d say your chances can’t be better than 1 in 2 billion,” Raven said with a smile. “Not odds I’d bet on.”

            “Well I guess that’s why I’m making the scene, not you,” Break said as he turned from the table.

            “Keep your eyes open,” Raven warned as Break reached the door. “Zai won’t have you killed in public, but this hotel’s crawling with his private guard by now. Be careful who you trust, he has plenty of good agents on his side.”

            Break nodded and pulled the door open. “I will.”

            He kept his steps carefully measured as he walked down the hallway; composing himself so that by the time the elevator doors dinged open in the lobby his outward appearance betrayed none of the giddy high of excitement he felt. He was the picture of cool, dominant, casual wealth in his fine suit and with his rich-looking cane tapping along beside him. As he had before, Break made a point to attract every pair of eyes he could, casting small smiles and half-glances wherever he could, snaring men and women alike with his bewitching eyes and demeanor. He crossed within a few feet of the fountain, relishing the dance of the cool spray on his skin, and looped across the absolute finery of the marble floor to the foot of the grand stairs.

            He jogged up them easily, each step setting the heavy bag of cash thumping satisfyingly against his side. The casino’s main door loomed into view as he crested the top of the stairs. Break drew up to it slowly, giving himself a moment to take it in. The whirring and dinging of slot machines mixed tantalizingly with dealers’ voices and cries of victory and defeat, a soundscape that cried out to be explored. Everything within was dim and gold-tinted, a siren’s song of wealth and chance that tugged inexorably at the senses. Break took a deep breath, tapped his cane twice on the ground at his side, and then pitched himself headfirst into the seductive sea of the Casino Royale.

            The tide hit Break with the same addictive, half-forbidden burn as cocaine. Droves of slot machines loomed before Break and almost without realizing it he found himself seated before one, lured by a tantalizing canvas of blazing purple light and whirring wheels. A stack of bills gave him a hundred plays and – as expected – a hundred losses. _Got to make your little game interesting, don’t we, Oz?_ Break thought, his predatory excitement growing with every loss. In 45 minutes he was down almost a thousand dollars. In two hours that amount had more than quadrupled.

            The rolling waves of lot machines continued hundreds of feet back into the casino’s depths, split by the winding continents of carpeted walkways that twisted this way and that into the turbulent depths. Break followed one, stopping to lose more money at each slot machine with enough bells and whistles and flashing lights to hold his attention for longer than a few seconds. Five thousand dollars in losses had more than doubled to almost fifteen thousand by the time he even reached the massive archipelago of dice and roulette tables situated throughout the upper floor of the casino. And still Break wore that secure, casual smile and carried himself with a dancer’s grace and ease. Another surge of powerful excitement thrilled along his spine as he sidled up to a craps table and reached into his bag for another wad of bills.

            Break was neither shy about counting out 1500 dollars onto the table nor introducing himself to the pretty woman seated beside him. He ordered a cocktail from a passing waiter and drank and flirted away almost 30,000 dollars with a smile still on his face. He could feel the intoxicating weight of eyes on him once more with every loss he garnered and every casual touch to the woman beside him. That weight grew with each outburst of his boisterous laugh, every enchanting smile, and each casual tossing aside of thousands of dollars. By the time Break delivered a coy, chaste kiss to his anonymous companion’s hand and stood to go to a different table he was undeniably the center of attention in the casino. He was well and truly making a scene.

            Another 70,000 dollars fell by the wayside, victim to a stint at a roulette table, and a further 80,000 to other games of luck and chance. Another long foray back into the tantalizing zoo of slot machines pulled Break’s total losses up to a stunning 350,000 dollars. Between that and the unbelievably expensive and impeccably made drinks he bought himself and a companion or two at each table, nearly all of Oz’s cash was gone. When Break reached into his bag for the money for another buy-in and found only 13,000 dollars left, he checked his watch. Barely 8 pm. The last of his cash fell away in a few short spins of the roulette wheel and he retreated from the table. He was down 400,000 dollars, well on his way to being drunk, and out of cash. The only option left was to turn in the chip cards Oz had given him and make his way to the poker tables on the casino’s lower level. Finding the stairs to the lower level was easy work and locating a change booth even easier. The man behind the desk hefted three quarters of a million dollars worth of poker chips over to Break and he slid them into his bag with ease. Then he followed the arching marble staircase down into the silky and golden world of the casino’s most profitable area: its poker tables.

            The stairs deposited him near the back of the casino and along its outside edge, near some of the low-stakes tables. The atmosphere here was one of high energy and held breath, though it was far quieter than the upper floor. Tens and hundreds of thousands of dollars changed hands with nothing more than the flick of a wrist or a casual tilt of the chin. Shuffled cards, dealers’ calls, and awed gasps all filled the space like a forbidden song, lilting and unreal and dangerous. After a quick scan of the tables it was clear to Break that they were arranged by value, tables with the lowest buy-ins on the outer edges while those with buy-ins in the hundreds of thousands of dollar range lurked deep in the casino’s belly. _Let the games begin..._ Break thought as he slipped away from the stairs and took up a seat at a table along the floor’s outer edge. It was a low buy-in table populated by a small crowd of what must have been some of the casino hotel’s least wealthy guests. The dealer shuffled and dealt, announcing the game as Blackjack as he did. Break paid him little mind, focusing intently on the security cameras fixed above his head instead. _Are you watching, Oz? You could hack these cameras in about half a second..._ Break sincerely hoped he was. He could already imagine the shock and barely repressed rage on Oz’s face when he walked through the door having won their bet. _Then maybe I’ll throw_ you _in the fountain in the lobby, you little shit..._ he thought as he gave the camera a smile.

            Just as planned, the first hand of poker ended in a loss of 1,000 dollars. Twenty more rounds at tables of that caliber and Break was down to 700,000 dollars remaining of the 1.2 million Oz had handed him to begin with. He moved further inward, to the tables that took 5 and then 10,000 dollar buy ins. Hand after hand of Spanish 21, 7 card stud, and Blackjack continued to drain his finances, putting him further and further in the hole with every unfavorable deal. He left each table with a small sigh and a little shrug, his losses rocketing to 100 then 200 then 500,000 dollars. In less than 5 hours at slot machines, craps tables, and now poker Break had lost 1 million dollars, more money than he’d even ben able to imagine before 24 hours before. His egregious losses continued to draw the crowd’s attention, but the confident smile that Break continued to wear even now held it.

            Break cast a glance up at a security camera over a dealer’s head then turned and walked easily and evenly through the throng of tables, each step light and confident, straight to the highest stakes table of all, with a buy-in of 200,000 dollars. Exactly as much money as he still had. His remaining funds would buy him one hand. Things had finally started to get interesting.

            It was as he strode up to the table and rifled in his bag for what remained of his chips that Break composed himself and well and truly turned on his poker face. Where other players needed glasses, hoodies, and years of training to disguise tics and tells, all Break needed was that same coy, cool smile he’d been hinting at all along, and a certain determined, calculating hardness in his eyes. The face was there in a blink, impenetrable as stone and just as emotionless, a feather-pale picture of confidence. It was a face with no fissures. No weaknesses.

Or it was.

Until Break set his chips on the table and raised his eyes to the dealer. Then the world stopped.

He was unbelievably tall yet no less graceful for it, with a trim build and light, long fingers that somehow enchanted everything he touched. He was flicking a deck of cards between his hands in intricate shuffling patterns performed with perfect accuracy as he studied the players gathering around his table. As all the dealers were, he was clothed in the uniform of the Casino Royale, a pair of trim black slacks, a double-breasted green and gold vest emblazoned with the casino’s logo, and a white shirt. He’d unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled is sleeves to the elbow, revealing tanned, toned forearms lightly and almost imperceptibly smattered with a few moles and freckles. He’d made no effort to tame his wild, half-curling brown hair, and as such it stuck up around his face. Somehow, impossibly, the mess of it was artful and unduly attractive, giving him a bookish charm that was only enhanced by the delicate set of gold wire-frame glasses that perched on his sharp nose and framed a set of kind, intelligent eyes whose color danced somewhere between rum-brown and honey-gold. Break could hardly tear his eyes away from that face, turned downwards now to inspect the cards for the next hand, long enough to read the name emblazoned in curling script on a gold nametag:

Break mouthed the name to himself, tasting the music of its syllables on his tongue, entirely swept away by the unpracticed, unplanned confidence that the dealer – Liam – exuded with every movement. Everything about him, from the way his vest hung to the way he stood with his weight leaning into one hip to the slight furrow of his brow as he focused was absolutely enthralling. He was the perfect combination of adorable and sexy, and Break could not have been more instantly infatuated. _I bet he’s sensitive..._ Break found himself thinking. _Quiet and sensitive...Smart, too, if he’s the dealer at the highest stakes table in the Casino Royale...He looks like he likes to read...oh my God those_ eyes _! And how his hands fold around the cards...maybe he’s an artist or a poet or a musician...Oh Liam...quiet, sweet, sensitive Liam, all the things I would do to –_

Liam’s eyes snapped up from the cards and locked directly on Break’s. Their kind, studious quiet evaporated instantaneously into a look of perturbation and outrage. “What the hell’s your problem?!” he asked in a voice that for all its harshness was song and light.

With those five words, Xerxes Break fell in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wasn't really a fan of the translation "Reim" for the name, even though that's the official translation. "Liam" was a given translation for awhile, and it's a real name, so I'm going to be using that one in the fic.
> 
> Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! More fun to come!!


	8. Chapter Eight

“What the hell’s your problem?!”

Break’s sly poker smile devolved into one of genuine mirth and disbelief and he shrugged helplessly. “Nothing,” he replied, both unable and unwilling to shake the hold Liam had on him.

“Then what the hell are you staring at?” Liam retorted as he shuffled the cards once more.

Break threw his hands up and tore his eyes away from Liam with a shake of his head. “Absolutely nothing,” he said, the echo of laughter in his voice.

Liam shuffled the cards a final time and smacked the deck on the table to straighten them. “That’s what I fucking thought,” he said. He pinned Break beneath his hard gaze for another second then situated a kind smile on his face and turned back to the rest of the table.

“Gentlemen,” Liam said with a welcoming nod, “the game is Texas hold ‘em. 150,000 US buy-in and standard house rules apply. This is a limited game, live straddle is an option, and cards _will_ be shown in showdowns.” He paused, scanning his players. “I’m the strictest dealer in the house about cheating, and I know every trick in the book.” His gaze flicked back to Break. “Don’t test me.”  

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Break replied, a competitive flare in his voice as he settled back in his seat. Liam’s gaze remained fixed on him as he draped himself over his chair and set his poker face back in perfect order. The dealer’s hazel eyes blazed fiery and Break raised his eyebrows.

Liam shuffled and passed the deck to the player to his right to cut, his eyes scanning the table for signs of dishonesty. He flashed a few quick gestures, signals to whoever was watching on the other end of the security camera above him, and the hand began. As soon as he was passed his cards, Break’s focus suddenly became laser-sharp. With a 150,000 dollar buy-in winning this hand was absolutely essential.

So win it he did. And the next one. And the one after that. And in under an hour and a half he’d taken his bankroll from 200 to 900,000 dollars, over three quarters of the way back to the 1.12 million Oz had given him to begin with. Another few hands and four of the players who’d sat down with Break were out of money. With each hand he dealt and each chip he pushed across the table after another win, Break could see Liam’s expression growing more and more strained, his practiced smile sliding back into a look of perturbation that hit Break like an aphrodisiac.

Word of Break’s success spread like wildfire through the casino, and soon a small crowd had gathered to watch him play. Well-dressed patrons mingled with casino security, all of them watching Break like a hawk. Through it all he kept that cool, collected poker face in place. Several times the gathered security staff asked Liam through a series of hand signals and jargon if he’d like Break examined for cheating, but Liam always refused. There was no telling through his truly un-crackable poker face whether he believed Break to be being honest or whether he was simply unwilling to lose face if it turned out that the games were being played fairly and he was simply losing. Either way each short conversation clearly put Liam more on edge and Break more in love.

Finally, after almost two hours of intense concentration, clever betting, and smiling glances at Liam, Break was the only player left. The crowd around had gathered, and the Casino Royale’s staff had missed no opportunity to make a few extra dimes. Two or three dealers at nearby tables had set up betting pools as the game intensified, and the amount of money Monte Carlo stood to gain from it by the time the game came down to the mysterious albino newcomer who’d walked into the casino that afternoon in the company of the owner’s son versus the house dealer most renowned for his cunning, charm, and outstanding poker game outweighed the massive sums measured out in chips before Liam and Break both. Though the air crackled with tension and competition and buzzed with conversation and speculation by the time Liam and Break were ready for the final hand they had eyes and ears only for each other. 

Liam made a show of pulling out a fresh deck and popping it open, working the cards out into his hands.

Break raised his eyebrows at the gesture. “A fresh deck?” he asked, feigning surprise.

“Thought we might raise the stakes,” Liam countered with a shrug.

“Sounds like a plan,” Break said as he picked up a tall glass sitting beside him and sipped at the remains of a sweet cocktail.

Liam snapped the deck into a sharp shuffle and tapped it on the table. “Then we’ll play with one deck only. And how about we go limitless for this last hand, too?” he asked.

The crowd around gave something of a collective gasp, but Break remained unfazed. “Sure,” he replied easily.

Liam’s face bent in a lovely smile. He flicked the cards one more time between his hands then slid the cards to Break across the table. “Cut the deck,” he said, almost a challenge.

Break did, lifting away about a quarter of the cards and setting them beside the other portion of the deck. Liam gathered them up and set the deck before him on the table, his eyes locked on Break’s. He burned the top card then dealt he and Break both their hole cards.

Break flipped up the bare corner of his cards, careful to purposely showcase them to those standing behind him. A whirl of excitement went through him, though his face remained unchanged. He held a 10 of hearts and a Queen to match. Liam examined his own cards and then looked up at Break. His face remained entirely unchanged, still full of calculation and the fire of confrontation. After meeting Break’s eyes he reached into the hefty pile of chips and tossed a stack worth 200,000 dollars into the pot. _Confident..._ Break read easily. _You know you have something good, not-so-sensitive Liam..._ Break reached into his own pile and tossed 350,000 dollars in chips to the center of the table. _But I have something better._

The excitement in Break grew and the crowd fell into an expectant hush as Liam burned a card and then turned over three community cards in the middle of the table. Between an Ace of Clubs and a Six of Spades was a Jack of Hearts. Break resisted the urge to smile.

“I’ll raise,” Liam remarked casually. He tossed 400,000 dollars worth of chips into the center of the table.

“I’ll raise that,” Break countered. He tossed in 500,000.

Liam analyzed him, clearly and unabashedly checking for bluffs. Break did the same. Both seemed to come away satisfied and settled back in their seats. Another cocktail arrived for Break, borne by a pretty waitress. He took it, offered her a wink, and then turned back to the game.

Liam burned another card then dealt the turn. A King of Hearts grinned up at both of them. Their eyes flicked up to one another’s.

“I’ll raise again,” Liam said casually.

Break had to keep from visibly balking as Liam pushed over 1 million dollars worth of chips into the center of the table. He resisted the urge, channeling it instead into another smirk. “Bold move...” _Just how lucky am I feeling?_ He analyzed the past week, taking stock of the chances he’d taken and their results. _Took a chance on following Raven to the Diamond Plaza and ended up in bed with him...Then took a chance on infiltrating l’Abyss and ended up striking a deal with Jackrabbit...Then demanded Zai Vessalius come retrieve his son in person and got what I wanted...I guess I can afford another chance..._ “All in.”

The crowd around them gasped audibly, and Liam’s positively indestructible poker face cracked just slightly. “Before the river’s even dealt?” he asked, trying to smooth incredulity from his voice.

“Before the river’s even dealt,” Break affirmed. He pushed every chip in front of him into the center of the table. 1.15 million dollars.

Liam blinked in barely disguised shock.

Break leaned forward on an elbow and narrowed his eyes slightly at Liam. “What do you say we raise the stakes again?” Break asked smoothly.

Liam laughed. “You’ve already gone all in, love, what more can we bet?” he returned.

Break sat back in his chair and gave Liam a daring smile. “How about...you?” The crowd around burst into chatter, and this time Liam could do nothing to disguise the surprise on his face.

“What the hell do you mean, me?!” Liam asked. A new gruffness and gravel had come into his voice, and he raised one hand to his chest in apparent outrage.

The change in Liam stirred something in Break, but he forced himself to remain unchanged. “Well...how about this. If I win this hand I’ll split the pot with the house and take only my original bet back. And in return for the other million you just bet...I’d like to take you to dinner after your shift tonight.”

The crowd around them roared to new life. Liam raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, leaning his weight into one hip. To the bystanders it must appear he was thinking, but Break knew better. As a high stakes dealer playing as a representative of the house, Liam was one of the dealers most at risk of losing the Casino Royale substantial amounts of money in play. The chance to keep over a million dollars even if he lost a hand was one Break knew he’d likely be unable to refuse.

Liam uncrossed his arms, rested his hands on the table, and looked Break straight in the eyes. “Seems like a fair bet. You win we split the pot and I’ll go to dinner with you. I win you walk away penniless.” He tipped his head. “One problem though, love...What are you going to bet in the river round?” he asked.

Break took a sip of his drink and set it back on the table. “Nothing,” he dared. “I’ll check. I’ve already won this hand. It doesn’t matter what I bet on the river.”

Liam barked a laugh and leaned away from Break. “Fine, if you insist.” He turned back to the deck and burned a card, then thumbed the next one from the deck.

Break’s breath caught nervously in his throat as Liam flipped the card onto the table. The area surrounding their table was utterly silent. Tension crackled through the air. Break fought to keep his poker face intact. The card Liam had just dealt glowered up, the single shape in its center red as a bleeding rose. It was the Ace of Hearts.

Liam’s eyes flicked up to him. “Cards must be shown in the showdown...” he said cockily. He flipped his two hole cards over, revealing an Ace of Spades and a matching Ace of Diamonds. The crowd burst into chatter. Liam ignored them, focusing instead on Break. “These two aces in my hand, plus the Ace of Clubs and the king and Ace of Hearts from the board make a four of a kind hand with a high king as a fifth. Third rarest hand in poker.” He smirked at Break.

Break allowed his poker face to dissolve. He took a heavy sigh, looking around as if in panic or resignation.

“Sorry, love,” Liam said with a casual shrug. “Better luck next time...Now let’s see that hand of yours.”

“I...” Break hesitated another moment then flipped over first one of his hole cards and then the other. He kept that desperate, flustered look on his face, allowing everyone around a moment to take in the cards. Liam’s eyes widened as he saw them, and the crowd around burst into a combination of excited cheering and murmurs. Break’s flustered look changed immediately into one of victorious smugness. A smile spread on his face and he leaned forward onto the table on his elbows. “The Queen and 10 of Hearts from my hole plus the King, the Ace, and the Jack from the board makes a straight royal flush...” He rested his chin in his hand and narrowed his eyes playfully at Liam. “Rarest hand in poker. Sorry love. Better luck next time.”

Both Liam and Break were deaf to the sounds of the crowd around them as they stared at one another. Liam’s face had contorted back into that lovely look of irritation that Break was coming to love already. Break gathered up half the chips on the table, splitting them fairly between himself and the house. His half was worth 1.15 million dollars, a bare 30,000 dollars more than Oz had given him to start out with. He pulled his bag from the back of his chair and began to lift small stacks of chips into it. “So...what time do you get off?” he asked the still appalled Liam.

Liam bristled immediately. “You cocky godda-“

“Ah, ah, ah...A bet’s a bet, right?” Break chided.

Liam bit off the end of his sentence and watched in undisguised outrage as Break gathered up his chips. “Midnight,” he managed in a strained voice.

“Lovely,” Break said as the last of the chips clicked into place in his bag. He stood up in his chair and leaned over the table towards Liam. Liam’s jaw clenched and an infuriated line blossomed between his furrowed eyebrows. Break reached up with one delicate hand and slid something into the pocket of Liam’s vest. The last of his chips, worth 500 dollars. “Thanks for the great game, sweetie.” The fury brimming in Liam’s eyes inspired a small chuckle in Break. “I’ll meet you at the fountain at 10 past midnight.” He leaned back on his heels and gathered his bag, then turned to go without saying goodbye. After a few seconds of pressing through the bare edges of the gathered he turned over his shoulder, smiling keenly at Liam. “Oh, and...don’t be late, Liam. It’s unattractive.”

Before Liam could bite out a retort Break turned back the way he’d come and breezed off towards the front of the casino, smiling happily to himself. He turned back over his shoulder again as he exited the casino, his stomach giving a little trill of desire. “Liam,” he murmured.

  

* * *

 

Liam’s replacement dealer arrived as scheduled, 20 minutes before midnight. The players seated around his table could hardly hide their relief as Liam dealt and played his last hand. Since the tiny, obnoxiously confident albino man had cleaned out the house in a dramatic show of luck and cockiness, Liam had been incurably irritable and therefore far less inclined to take it easy on the players at his station. He turned up three kings and a pair of sixes on his final hand and lost to a player with a full house. His smile was beyond strained as he pushed the winning chips across to the man, but he kept it dutifully in place. _Just be nice for five more minutes and then you’re done_ he told himself.

Finally, with the business of winnings settled, Liam thanked the players at his table and turned to go. “Have a good night, Liam!” The dealer who had come to replace him said cheerfully, a friendly smile on his round face.

“You too, Eric. Careful of Mr. Horman, he’s been making a killing off the house tonight!” Liam replied, his voice ringing with the tones of jovial banter. He cast a glance back at the mentioned player and both men laughed. _I’d like to kick your stupid face in!_ Liam thought, concealing the rude impulse beneath a final smile.

“Well, I’ll certainly keep an eye out!” the other dealer replied, clapping a hand on Liam’s shoulder as he passed.

_Yours too..._ Liam forced himself to smile as he bid the other dealer a cheerful goodnight. His expression soured the second he turned. “Fucking asshole...” he muttered as he stalked off through the casino.

_I’ll meet you by the fountain at 10 past midnight...Don’t be late, Liam. It’s unattractive._ The memory of the albino man’s haughty voice filled Liam with another twang of irritation. “I’ll show you unattractive,” he growled as the casino’s front doors came into view. He removed his glasses and cleaned them and tousled his tidied brown hair into the flustered mess of its natural state. He replaced his glasses with one hand and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his collar. He ducked into the dealers’ room near the door and placed his vest and nametag in the locker with his name on it. He unhooked a small holster from his belt, too, and laid the pistol all high stakes dealers carried onto its shelf in the locker with a small grimace. He checked the clock on the opposite wall as he slammed the locker shut. 12:14. He clicked his tongue. _Don’t be late. It’s unattractive._ “Yeah, well fuck you, anyway,” Liam growled to himself through his teeth. He jammed his hands in his pockets as he walked out into the lobby. His fingers connected with the 500-dollar poker chip in his pocket just as he caught sight of the unavoidably and absolutely unacceptably attractive albino waiting for him.

Their eyes connected half a second before the man looked down at a sleek silver watch on his wrist. He looked back up and raised an eyebrow. Liam’s shoulders tensed.

“You’re late,” the man said, shaking his head slightly. “Really, Liam, I expected better...”

“You made your point,” Liam said as he arrived beside the man at the fountain’s edge.

He nearly pitched himself into the shallow, babbling water when he returned the killer smile the man gave him with a sweet, flirty one of his own. The albino’s eyebrows raised in something like satisfaction as he did.

“Shall we?” he asked after a tense second of silence, nodding towards the hotel bar to their left.

“Like I have a choice,” Liam snapped with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, don’t think of it like that or you won’t have _any_ fun,” the albino said with a wave of his hand as he turned to walk towards the bar.

Liam followed him, reminding himself that this suave and cocky stranger was – above all else – a patron of the hotel and as such required at least a fragile attempt at respect. The bar was half-full at this hour, midnight representing the awkward lull between those patrons who frequented the bar for an after-dinner drink and those who ended up there after returning from nights on the town. The albino breezed into the bar and chose a table in full view of the lobby, crossing his legs and leaning his sleek cane against the back of his chair. Something about even the way he sat made Liam’s jaw clench. _Who the fuck walks with a cane, anyway?!_ Liam screamed in his head as he took the seat across from the man. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, tipping his head and waiting for the newcomer to speak first.

A few seconds of silence passed before Liam gave a sigh and looked away, feigning disinterest. It was far harder than he wanted to admit to force himself not to turn back and continue taking in the delicate wonder of a man sitting across from him. But he was content to sit in resolutely stubborn silence until the stranger caved and asked him something first.

            “I thought Monte Carlo was known for its hospitality, but we’ve been sitting here almost 10 minutes and you haven’t even asked my name,” the man lilted eventually with another put-upon little sigh. He shifted forward in his seat, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin in his hand, every inch of him supple and alluring.

            Liam’s attention snapped to him immediately. A sharp retort died on his tongue and he narrowed his eyes. Competition raked through the air between them, but rather than meeting the challenge with a biting remark Liam leaned back in his chair, softening his own posture and giving the man opposite him a coy smile. “Fine...What’s your name, then? And what brings you to Monte Carlo?” He tipped his head, dropping his voice into something more flirty and honeyed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here. I’m sure I’d remember someone as unique as you...” his eyes flicked up the stranger’s body as he spoke.

            “Maddon Kent,” the man replied in a voice as smooth as smoke. “But call me ‘Mad’...I’m in Monte Carlo on some business.”

            Liam raised his eyebrows. “Mad...That’s an interesting nickname,” he said.

            Maddon chuckled. “Well, I certainly live up to it...Liam.” He tipped his head. “That’s your real name, isn’t it? Liam?”  

            Liam resisted the urge to punch himself in the stomach as his name on Maddon’s lips set his blood burning fiery for a moment. “Yes,” he replied, forcing his smile to grow wider and brighter. “So...Mad. What sort of business are you in?”

            Maddon leaned back in his chair and gave Liam a wink, then tapped a finger against his lips. “Can’t tell, love. It’s a secret,” he lilted.

            _Of course it is._ Maddon’s fluid movement and the almost condescending note in his voice as he spoke made Liam’s shoulder twinge with annoyance. “Oh,” he said flatly, not trusting himself to give a further response for fear of snapping. _Look at you all high and fucking mighty...I bet I could snap you over my goddamn knee if I tried..._ he growled internally.

            Maddon seemed to read something in him and quirked an eyebrow. He picked up the cocktail menu on the table and flicked it open. “You’ve had a hard night...how about a drink?” he asked, his voice dripping with sweetness and something close to pity.

            Liam ground his teeth. _I wouldn’t have had a hard night if you hadn’t fucking walked into it..._ He forced himself to give a small nod. “Thanks,” he ground out.

            Maddon’s eyes flicked up to him. “You’re...let me guess...a whiskey man.” His flirty smile trilled back into place on his lips. “You certainly look the part.”

            Liam’s decorum cracked and he guffawed. “What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” he asked pointedly.

            “Why, the color of your eyes,” Maddon replied, unhindered by Liam’s roughness. “I’ve never met someone with gold in his eyes before.”

            Liam opened his mouth to bite a sharp retort but Maddon spoke again, interrupting him.

            “Is that a yes to whiskey?”

            Liam nodded. “An old fashioned,” he replied.

            “And for dinner?” Maddon asked, still perusing the menu.

            “Oh, you’re buying me dinner now, are you?” Liam retorted.

            Liam’s heart fluttered as Maddon’s intoxicating eyes flicked up from the menu and landed on him. “Of course. This is a date, isn’t it?” he asked.

Fire flickered through Liam’s blood and his guard dropped momentarily. _Maybe I read him wrong...Maybe he’s sweet...Maybe he’s just playing up this whole asshole thing for show..._

Maddon’s eyes dropped to half-lidded and his mouth bent up in a little smirk. “And after tonight I can certainly afford it,” he continued.

The thrill of attraction in Liam’s blood died instantly. _Never fucking mind._ His eyes hardened and he tipped his head. “A hamburger. One of those obnoxiously over-priced ones on the right hand side of the menu,” he said.

Maddon’s eyes flicked to the menu again and he laughed. It was an annoyingly gorgeous sound, and Liam found himself beating down another wash of attraction. “Thirty four dollars for a hamburger? Who the hell does Zai Vessalius think he is?” Maddon asked. A note in his voice as he spoke this time was more honest, more genuinely amused.

Liam found himself unhesitant to joke back, in the face of that slight shift. “Zai Vessalius, probably. There’s no telling, though,” Liam lowered his voice almost conspiratorially. “If you ask me, his son Oz probably got his wits from his mother...” he said in a dramatic stage whisper.

Maddon laughed again, and again the sound was more honest than anything else had been. It was a high, clear laugh, and contagious to the point that Liam found himself echoing it almost without realizing it.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that. My business in Monte Carlo is with him. Glad to know I’ll have the upper hand,” Maddon said. He closed the menu and tossed it casually on the table, then uncrossed his legs and stood. “I’ll be right back. With an old fashioned and the most obnoxiously over-priced hamburger on the menu,” he said with another smile. He picked up his cane and tapped off across the bar away from their table.

Liam found himself inexorably drawn to watch Maddon go. He looked his small, graceful form up and down in admiration. _He moves like a dancer, or an acrobat. And he certainly is lovely..._ He slammed down on the thought.

Maddon returned a few minutes later with their drinks and took up his seat at the table again. Liam’s eyebrows rose incredulously as he took in the tall, bubbling Collins glass full of bright gold liquid in Maddon’s hand. “What the hell are you drinking?” he asked.

“Seven and seven,” Maddon replied.

Irritation replaced attraction once again, and Liam grimaced. He took a deep sip of his drink before replying, enjoying the dark, bitter flavor on his tongue. “Why the hell would you ruin whiskey by putting 7 Up in it?” he asked.

Maddon chuckled and took a sip of his own drink. “I’ll confess I’m a bit of a sugar addict,” he replied.

Liam barked a laugh. “You would be,” he said. His eyes flicked up and down Maddon again. “You certainly look the part.”

Maddon tipped his head, catching the echo of his own earlier words. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, throwing Liam’s own words back at him.

“Why, the color of your eyes,” Liam drawled, setting his drink down on the table and resting his chin in his hand. He gave Maddon almost a dreamy sigh. “They’re like sweet cherries. I’ve never met someone with garnet in his eyes...” he said, his voice dripping with dramatic flair.

“I’m a rarity,” Maddon said, shrugging coyly. “Albinism like mine is rarer than a straight royal flush.”

Maddon’s self-centered comment plus the reference to his defeat in the casino set Liam scowling again. He picked up his drink and downed over half of it in a single sip, relishing the buzz the strong whiskey and bitters set spinning through his head almost immediately. He checked his watch unsubtly.

Maddon caught the gesture and sighed. “Bored, Liam?” he asked.

“A bit,” Liam retorted, making no attempt to disguise the perturbation in his voice.

Maddon chuckled and took another sip of his drink. “Well you’ll be free of my wretched company soon,” he said flippantly. “In the meantime...tell me about yourself. You don’t sound French...Where are you from, Liam? And what brings _you_ to Monte Carlo?”

Liam raised his eyebrows. _Is he serious?_ Maddon’s face didn’t change, so Liam sighed and gave in to his request for a story. “I’m American. I left the States after I graduated high school five years ago and got a job here. They started me as a bartender but I’m good with money and good at poker so I moved up quickly,” he replied.

Maddon gave Liam a smile. “So that makes you, what, 23 now?” His smile arched up more keenly as Liam nodded. “Just a year younger than I am.”

“Wow, what a goddamn coincidence,” Liam retorted. He raised his glass, tipped is head back, and finished off his drink in a single long gulp.

“Oh, come now. I’m just making conversation, Liam...is there _really_ a need to be like that?” Maddon asked. A teasing note was clear in his voice, and it set Liam’s eyes narrowing.

He opened his mouth to give a sharp retort, but was cut off by the sudden arrival of a waitress bearing their hamburgers. She set down the plates and looked between them, giggling under her breath. Liam pinned her with a glare.

“Embarrassed to be seen with me?” Maddon asked. “Or just to have lost at your own game?”

The waitress raised a hand to her mouth in an attempt to hide her mirth further. Liam picked up one of the French fries from his plate and popped it in his mouth, chewing pointedly to keep from answering.

Maddon turned a suave look on the woman standing beside their table. “Would you mind grabbing us some more drinks, honey? A goldeneye for me, and...” he turned to look expectantly at Liam.

“An Irish coffee,” Liam replied before popping another fry into his mouth.

The waitress nodded and flounced away. Maddon picked up his hamburger and took a bite.

_Oh thank God..._ Liam thought wryly. _Maybe now he’ll shut the hell up for a few seconds._

            “Well, I can certainly see why this cost me thirty four dollars. As far as over-priced hamburgers go this is probably the best one I’ve ever had,” he said after a minute.

            Liam grunted in response as he picked up his own burger and took a large bite.

            They ate in silence for a few minutes, Maddon’s infuriatingly attractive eyes never far from Liam. Their drinks arrived and Liam finished his quickly and ordered another, settling into a buzz as the strong whiskey began to overtake him. The happy distraction of their meal only lasted so long, and with each bite he took Liam could feel the prospect of more infuriating conversations with Maddon looming large on the horizon. He checked his watch again as he finished the last of his burger and read 1:15 there with something like hope. _I can say I’m tired...I just got off an 8 hour shift after all..._ His eyes flicked up to the man across from him. _But that means he wins..._

            Maddon caught his glance. “Something wrong?” he asked as he took a sip of the White Russian in front of him.

            “Nothing,” Liam replied casually as he finished off the last of his fries. “Just realizing I hadn’t thanked you for dinner.”

            “Well I couldn’t have done it without you,” Maddon said with another irksome smirk.

            Liam narrowed his eyes. “You know, I think ‘Mad’ is a good nickname for you. You’re certainly about to drive _me_ insane,” he said flatly.

            Maddon considered him for a moment, then gave a little sigh and pushed back his chair without warning. He pulled two hundred dollar bills from his jacket’s inside pocket and tossed them somewhat carelessly on the table, then stood. “Well we can’t have that, can we?” He gathered up his bag, flicked his obnoxiously sophisticated cane to his side, and gave Liam another smile. “Sorry to have ruined your night, Liam. Thanks for being such a good sport about such an unseemly defeat.” He turned without a goodnight and sauntered off through the bar towards the lobby.

            Liam stared after him in dumb shock, his mouth hanging open, a dozen curt replies and confessions of love and scathing insults warring on the tip of his tongue. None of them manifested quickly enough to reach Maddon before he turned to go.

            “What the fuck?” Liam said to himself. He looked down at the table, then up at the bar, then threw his arms wide and slammed a fist down on his knee. “What. The. Fuck?!” he repeated loudly enough that some of the bar’s other late-night patrons turned to stare.

            Rage and bitterness and the urge to throttle Maddon rose up so strongly in Liam that it sent him bolting to his feet. He shoved his chair back and stood, talking off across the bar with fire in his eyes and his fists clenched at his sides, walking quickly so as not to lose Maddon. He jogged a few steps as he exited the bar. Maddon’s receding shape was still visible, not far off beside the fountain where they’d met just over an hour ago. “Hey!” Liam called sharply.

            Maddon turned. Liam’s pace didn’t slow.

            “No.” he said as he approached him. “No, Maddon Kent, I don’t _fucking_ think so!”

  

* * *

 

            _Come on, come on, come on...One more gamble...One more chance, let this one work out too..._ Break prayed as he walked across the lobby, his cane tapping purposefully at his side.

            “Hey!”

            A massive smile spread on Break’s face and he stopped in his tracks. He wiped the delighted expression from his face and turned. Liam was approaching fast, his fists clenched at his side and an expression that radiated frustration and disbelief plastered on his face.

            “No, Maddon Kent, I don’t _fucking_ think so!” Liam shouted as he approached. His voice was raised so loudly it nearly echoed, but he didn’t seem to mind.

            For his part, Break probably couldn’t have been less upset about it if he’d tried. As soon as he turned to face Liam the crackle of attraction and the intoxicating flare of competition between them was back. Break leaned against his cane, sliding easily into the cool flippancy he’d been relying on all night to perturb Liam. “Something wrong?” he asked.

            Liam reached him and came to a stop a bare foot away, throwing his arms wide in outrage. “What the fuck do you mean is something _wrong?!_ ” He dropped his arms and placed his hands on his hips, leaning down so he could look Break in the eyes.

The difference in their heights suddenly registered to Break and his smile widened slightly despite the rage in Liam’s eyes. “Do you need me to spell it out for you?” Break asked with a put-upon little frown.

Liam barked a laugh, gruffness sliding into his melodic voice. “Can I ask you a _serious_ question, Mad?” He raised one hand almost as though he meant to slap Break, then balled it into a fist and dropped it again. “What the _hell_ is your problem?! You show up as a _nobody_ at one of the most prestigious casinos on earth, lose everything you walked in with short of a buy-in for the highest stakes table in the place, beat out some of Europe’s wealthiest and best poker players without even batting an eyelash, then on a final hand agree not to double _1.5 million US dollars_ for the chance to go to dinner with the fucking dealer, then proceed to act like such a fucking asshole all night that I don’t know whether I want to strangle you or myself!” Liam’s voice rose to a shout once more. “What the hell is your problem?!”

Break stood in awe. _How the hell did I ever think you were sweet?_ he wondered half dreamily. Everything that was once quiet and bookish and adorable about Liam has been replaced with sheer, unabashed sexiness. Break forced his conscious mind to continue working and gave Liam a shrug and a reply that belied casualness. “I was just trying to make a scene.”

Liam scoffed. “Make a _scene_?!” He reached forward and seized Break’s shoulders in his strong hands, pulling him close and dropping an arm instantly around his waist. “I’ll show you how to make a fucking scene!”

Without warning or pause Liam leaned down through the distance between them and kissed Break full on the mouth. Surprise and elation danced immediately in Break’s stomach and his blood blazed red-hot. Almost instinctively and certainly without inhibition his arms rose and encircled Liam’s neck. He pulled himself close to Liam and their lips parted instantly around one another’s, the kiss deepening into insistent passion. Break fought the urge to gasp in satisfaction as Liam’s hand made its way into his hair and tightened there, tugging softly.

They pulled apart after a minute to look at one another again, fire and desire radiating between them. Break opened his mouth to speak but before he could Liam was on him, kissing him once more, more briefly this time but just as passionately.

“How’s that for a fucking scene?” Liam muttered as he pulled away again. His hand rose from Break’s waist to grab his arm and tug him closer.

Break’s eyes glowed bright with a challenge. He reached up to wipe his mouth with one hand and tipped his head as he looked up at Liam. “Really, Liam? That’s the best you’ve got?” he retorted.

Liam smiled down at Break. “Oh, believe me... _far_ from it.”

“Oh?” Break shrugged his arm free of Liam’s grip and smirked back up at him, his eyes slipping to half-lidded as he took a few steps back across the lobby towards the elevators. “Prove it.”

 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Wow, it's been awhile! On that note, I wanted to let everyone know that now that I'm back from a semester studying abroad in Europe and the craziness of the holidays is over you can start expecting WEEKLY UPDATES any time between Saturday afternoon to Sunday morning every week! So yay for that.
> 
> In respect to this chapter in particular, what would a James Bond AU be without a ridiculous cheesecake scene?? This chapter is pretty much just Liam and Break getting it on, so if that's not your thing wait until next week to read. I'll make sure to put any pertinent plot details in the chapter notes for next week's chapter so you don't miss anything. For those of you who are interested, there's nothing too crazy in this chapter. Some very light bondage and some dirty talk, but nothing too intense. 
> 
> Enjoy! And happy new year to everyone!

“Where are we?” Break asked breathlessly, pulling away from Liam as the elevator door dinged open, revealing a long, undecorated hallway lined on either side with plain doors.

“Lower floor. Employees who live on site have their quarters here,” Liam replied, tugging Break out of the elevator and throwing him back against a nearby wall, straight into another deep kiss. Break responded readily as Liam ground his hips against him, reaching up to wrap his arms around the far taller man’s neck to pull his face down. Liam’s mouth parted around Break’s and his hands wrapped around his waist and pressed against the small of his back. Break arched into the touch, his flexible body bending to Liam’s will. Liam bit down on Break’s lower lip and Break tugged at his hair in appreciation. They gave twin desirous sighs and lingered for another long second in the embrace. Then Liam pulled away and took Break’s hand again.

“So, this is the Casino Royale’s dark underbelly?” Break asked, trying to force himself to analyze his surroundings for possible traps and means of escape rather than watching Liam as he walked.

Liam barked a laugh. “Hardly,” he said as he pulled them both to a stop outside a door about halfway down the hallway. He fished in his pocket for a key and moved to unlock the door. The flush and hurry of arousal cleared from Break’s head long enough to notice that Liam’s graceful fingers hurried with the key, and that his gaze flicked to a nearby closed door as the lock clicked loudly.

But the moment passed, and Break found his attention once more devoted wholeheartedly to Liam as they stepped through the door together. They fell into one another’s arms again, the door slamming shut under Liam’s weight as he threw them back against it. Break was on him again in a second, leaning up to kiss his neck, nipping and suckling at the sensitive skin beneath Liam’s clean-shaven jaw. Liam let out a groan and his hands slid down Break’s waist, dragging his hips flush against his. He fumbled momentarily behind him for the deadbolt, then the light switch, then pushed himself off the door and dragged Break into the newly illuminated room.

It was a small, neat, impersonal space with a double bed and a desk in one corner. It was undecorated save for two or three pieces of stock art on the walls, a few books on the nightstand, and a rosary hanging from a lamp on the bedside table. Break barely had time to take it in before Liam stopped short and flung him onto the center of the bed. He gasped in surprise at Liam’s strength, tripping over the edge of the bed and falling forward onto his stomach. He propped himself up on his elbows and turned to look at Liam over his shoulder.

“You’re stronger than I thought,” he said with a coy tip of his head.

Break made to turn over as Liam reached the edge of the bed, to pull him down into another kiss, but a strong hand in the middle of his back kept him in place. He found Liam’s weight on him a second later, as the larger man straddled his hips and sat back atop him. “What are you – ah!” Break’s sentence was cut off in a strangled gasp as Liam grabbed his hair and turned his head roughly aside, giving him access to the sensitive skin of Break’s neck, which he set at eagerly with his lips, teeth, and tongue. The kisses were skillful and passionate, and Break found his hands clenching in the comforter. His eyes screwed shut as he let out another gasp, and his hips worked up against Liam’s almost against his will. He let out a small moan at the budding hardness he could feel there.

The response made Liam smirk, and he pulled away from Break’s neck long enough to lean up and chuckle in his ear. “Not used to people telling you what to do, Mad?” he crooned before returning to his prior course, nipping at a spot just beneath Break’s jaw and sliding his hands up the sides of Break’s body, locking them in place above his head on the bed.

            The sudden pinning of his hands brought Break back to his senses and he jerked his head up and to the side, freeing it of Liam’s tantalizing mouth. “No, I’m not,” he replied. He worked his hips up against Liam’s again as he spoke, disguising the movement as a grind but using it as a means to slide forward and out from beneath Liam, using Liam’s firm grip on his hands as leverage. Break’s trained flexibility and natural grace allowed the movement easily, and it was only half a second before he was out from beneath Liam, his wrists twisting beneath Liam’s trapping hands as he rolled onto his back. He gripped Liam’s hips hard with his lean legs and used all his strength to roll them over. Break kept a hold on Liam’s hands as they rolled, so that by the time he sat atop him their fingers were interlocked and Liam’s hands pressed into the mattress on either side of his head. “Are you?” he said with a smirk.

            Liam’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses and the same challenging fire that had come into them on the casino floor awoke there now. “Yes,” he replied breathlessly, his hands relaxing in Break’s grip, his body shifting beneath his on the bed.

            Liam’s sudden submission filled Break with a sharp thrill of desire. He bent to kiss him again, releasing his hands at the same time so he could begin to work at the buttons on Liam’s vest. They gave twin groans as their lips came together again, and the hurry of needy arousal came back into their embrace. Break’s deft fingers made short work of the buttons on Liam’s vest, his hands making short work of it. They parted momentarily, Break sitting back on Liam’s hips to tear off and toss aside his jacket and Liam pulling himself up slightly beneath him to shrug the vest from his shoulders. They shifted around one another to pull off their shoes and then fell against each other once more. Their mouths worked in a heady rhythm against one another’s, the kiss at once needy and languid. The moment Break’s lips parted he found Liam’s tongue in his mouth, working in tantalizing circles to find the most sensitive places there. Break gave a low sigh as Liam worked him, and their hips worked into one another’s again.

            Liam’s hands were back on Break in seconds, his fingers working with graceful ease at the buttons on his shirt. Break did the same, though he made it only halfway down Liam’s shirt before Liam finished with his. Liam pulled them up into a sitting position then leaned back out of their kiss to study Break. He perused the silky white chest and stomach before him with something bordering on fascination, one of his fingers tracing a delicate line down Break’s torso, his blunt nail leaving a tingling trail in its wake.

            “You’re lovely,” Liam said, the syllables ground out in a low, gravelly voice. He reached out and guided the shirt from Break’s shoulders and Break shrugged in a slow, sultry movement, freeing himself of its weight. The shirt crumpled onto the floor behind him and he smiled at Liam, assured of his own beauty, virtually feeling himself shine opal-white in the soft, yellow lamplight. “You’re not so bad yourself...” Break murmured, his hands back at Liam’s shirt. He had it open in a matter of seconds, and his smile widened. “Well...that explains your strength. You’re pretty built for a Texas Holdem dealer...” he said lowly, allowing his eyes to travel over Liam’s chest and stomach, both of which were chiseled with musculature. Liam shrugged out of his shirt to reveal a pair of well-built shoulders and arms, and Break bit his lip as arousal stirred in him again.

            Liam tossed his shirt away and chuckled. “Something like that,” he said with a smile. They fell together onto the bed, launching right back into another kiss. Liam’s hands returned to Break’s hair, tugging pins free until it fell around their faces, while Break’s danced expertly over Liam’s toned torso, playing through the reddish brown hair on his chest. Surprise flickered through him as he reached a patch of almost glassy-smooth skin running along the left side of Liam’s ribcage. A mixture of curiosity and muted horror replaced that surprise as he continued to trace it all the way down Liam’s side, almost to the waistline of his pants. _What could a scar that big be from...?_ he wondered. Break hardly had the thought out before Liam dropped a hand from his hair and snatched his wrist, jerking it away from the scar. Break acquiesced to the request, hardly remiss to settle his hand instead in the short hair at the back of Liam’s neck, which he began to tug at lightly as they kissed.

            Once Break’s touch was safely away from his scar, Liam slid his fingers deftly down Break’s spine until he reached his hips. He traced the waistline of Break’s pants with his thumb until he reached the front, when his hand dropped to palm insistently at the erection he could feel beneath Break’s pants. Break’s back arched in response and Liam let out a moan, kissing him with renewed fervor.

            Break broke the kiss to look down at Liam, his eyes winking as his hips rocked forward into Liam’s hand. “Eager?” he asked.

            Liam smiled up at him. “Are _you_?” he replied smoothly.

            Break’s expression barely had time to shift from cockiness to confusion before Liam had flipped them over again, and was pinning the far smaller Break to the bed beneath him. Break looked down in confusion as Liam’s hand left his hips, holding his belt. _I didn’t even feel him take that off..._ he realized. He had to fight to keep his mouth from falling open in abject shock as he made to shift and only then discovered that Liam had pinned his hands above his head once more, and had tangled their legs in such a way that Break wouldn’t be able to wriggle free again.

            Liam registered the surprise on Break’s face and gave him a smile as he looped the belt around Break’s wrists, tightening it enough to prevent escape but not nearly enough to hurt.

            Break tugged at the belt securing his hands together as soon as Liam’s fingers fell into his hair again. He was somehow unsurprised to find that Liam knew what he was doing and had tied it off in such a way that escape would be impossible without prolonged and deliberate effort. His eyes sharpened as he looked up at Liam, searching for a sharp retort. He smiled, almost trapped. “Seems your poker face is good for more than tricking players, isn’t it?” Break said, shaking his head, his breath growing ragged as Liam began to work with the button and zipper of his pants.

            “Not how you saw this night playing out?” Liam asked cockily as he eased Break’s pants open. His hand slipped beneath them and Break’s underwear, and he cupped him in one hand, squeezing Break’s growing erection gently.

            Break bit down hard on his lip to keep from gasping as Liam’s hand slipped lower, one of his long fingers prodding towards the entrance to his body. “No,” he managed, twisting his wrists slightly in the binding Liam had put them in, testing it for weaknesses and finding none.

            “Oh, I’m so sorry...” Liam murmured. He crooked his finger, stroking Break’s sensitive skin and watching in satisfaction as his back arched up slightly. “I’ll stop if you’d like...”

            Break’s eyes slammed shut and his hands clenched into fists, his whole body aching towards Liam, towards the stretch of his finger inside him. He opened his eyes once more and panted up at Liam, his eyes afire. “If you’re going to do it, you asshole, just _do it_ ,” he growled.

            Liam raised his eyebrows, impressed, as he pushed his finger forward into Break. He leaned over him as he did, quelling another sharp arch of Break’s back by pressing his weight down atop him. Another sweet moan escaped Break as Liam bit

sharply down on a spot on his bare collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a deep red mark as he pulled away a few seconds later.

            His satisfied smile only grew wider as Break’s hips drove down against his hand, pushing his finger into him as deep as it would go. Liam’s free hand dropped to Break’s pants, working at them until he could pull them and his underwear away from his hips in a single fluid motion. He sat back to study Break, a new wave of arousal ricocheting through him as he took in his silky smooth skin, the hardness between his legs, and the lithe strength of his entire small, cat-like body. He groaned softly and bent once more to place a sucking kiss beneath Break’s jaw, high up enough that he was sure no collared shirt or suit jacket would cover the mark. He swirled his finger around inside Break, watching in fascination as the long muscles beneath his ivory skin strained and danced as he arched his back.

            Break bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out as Liam pushed a second finger up inside him to join the first and set to working them in and out at a steady rhythm. Liam’s fingers were rough and warm, and the pleasure-pain of the stretch between his thighs threatened to drag moans from him with every breath. He fought the urge by pulling at the binding securing his hands together, though he was unable to stop himself from arching his back and thrusting his hips down to meet Liam’s fingers with every movement of them.

            Break’s silence set a twinge of irritation going through Liam. He continued to push his fingers into and out of Break, and lowered himself to kiss his lips and neck and chest too, leaving a garden of bright red marks in his wake. He picked up his fingers’ pace, garnering a long sigh and a harsh tug at his bindings from Break, but no more. He sat back on his heels, still working his fingers into and out of Break. Their eyes connected in a brilliant flash, Liam’s all electric desire and irritation and Break’s searing with defiance and arousal.

Break forced evenness into his voice, swallowing the breathlessness of passion and the needy groan of arousal as Liam looked down at him. “Something wrong?” he asked, his voice unmarred by desire.

            The spark of competitive fire that had lingered in the air between them since they met still hung there, and in the face of Break’s insistent resistance to fall victim to the spell of Liam’s touch was beginning to be fanned into a consuming blaze. “You tell me,” Liam replied.

            Break’s eyes slipped to half-lidded and even in that desirous state still maintained a seed of well-feigned dissatisfaction. “Oh, nothing. It’s just-“ he cut off, biting his tongue to keep from crying out as Liam drove his fingers deeper than he had yet into him and massaged them around, searching for and finding his prostate without any effort at all. Pressure against the bunched nerves inside him made Break’s back arch, his eyes slam shut, his mouth gape wide, and his hands tug so hard at the binding between them he felt a tendon in his wrist strain mildly. He recovered without a sound and opened his eyes to look up at Liam, the look on his face all perturbation at having been interrupted. “It’s just I have yet to see anything to outdo that kiss in the lobby, and you did promise me that was far from the best you had,” he said with what he could manage of a put-upon little sigh.

The fire of competitive attraction blazed brighter. Liam clicked his tongue. “Not usually one for foreplay, are you?” he asked.

Break hissed through his teeth once more as Liam massaged his prostate thoroughly with his next touch. “Not usually one for bottoming,” he retorted, straining against his bindings again.

Liam smirked. “Well, neither am I...You win some, you lose some, I guess,” he replied, working his fingers into Break again and grazing the long, graceful fingers of his other hand up and down Break’s inner thighs to further entice sound and movement.

Break’s infuriating smile widened and he hummed long and low in his throat. “Well, you’d know, wouldn’t you?” he replied with a sweet, almost knowing little chuckle.

Liam’s reply to Break’s teasing came in the form of a third finger pushed into him, this one slicked and smoothed and cool against the others. Break bit hard on his lip as he felt himself stretching further, his whole body aching involuntarily towards the new, more intense touch. _When the hell did he get lube?_ Break wondered dully, the thought hardly important in contrast to the pleasure raking through him. Liam’s pace picked up after he allowed Break a minute of adjustment, his fingering so intense that each movement rocked Break’s entire body.

“That smart mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble someday,” Liam crooned, his free hand leaving Break’s thigh to begin undoing the zipper of his pants.

Break recognized the sound and movement of Liam undressing and his entire body blazed bright with excited arousal for the span of a breath. “I’m counting on it,” he growled.

Liam finished with the button and zipper of his pants and jerked his fingers out of Break to remove them. Break gave a satisfying cry of protest as he did, and Liam smiled down at him. “Oh, don’t worry, you won’t be wanting long” he promised.

“I’m...counting on it,” Break panted back. His body gave another thrill as the now naked Liam shifted closer to him on the bed. He reached for the bottle of lube and squirted a generous amount into his palm, then slicked himself with long, slow movements, allowing Break to watch everything he did. Break’s heart picked up at a pounding, thundering pace as he watched Liam touch himself, and he found his hips rocking mildly on the bed and even his breathing following the languorous pace Liam was setting on himself.

“Eager?” Liam asked with a coy smile, echoing their earlier exchange.

“Yes,” Break replied, unable to manage the same flirty coyness in the face of Liam’s nakedness hovering so tantalizingly above him.

Liam removed his hand from himself and pushed up between Break’s knees. He placed his elbows on either side of Break’s head, between his shoulders, and lowered himself until his face was bare centimeters from Break’s. He pressed his erection right between Break’s thighs, thrusting his hips forward just hard enough that the very tip of his cock pressed into him, spreading him once more.

Break’s reaction was instinctive and immediate, his hands clenching into fists, his back arching, and his head flying off the bed, his lips finding Liam’s and kissing them hard. Liam pushed in another minimal amount and Break’s lips parted, drawing the kiss into depth and headiness.

Liam pulled away after a few long, sensual moments and smiled down at Break, pleased at watching him come undone so easily beneath him. He pushed into him another half an inch, satisfied as Break squirmed again. “My, Mad, I hardly expected you to-“

“Fuck you!” Break growled, cutting Liam off entirely.

Liam’s mouth was still parted as though to speak when Break’s legs rose from the bed, wrapped around Liam’s hips, and jerked together hard, driving Liam as deep and as fast as he could go right off the bat. Liam cried out at the unexpected shift, every muscle in his body clenching as he slid deep into the tight heat of Break’s body.

Break’s bound arms dropped around Liam’s neck, pulling his face close. His heart was racing, his breath no more than inconsistent, ragged panting and his eyes wide with arousal. He leaned up to growl in Liam’s ear, no longer able to disguise the blatant arousal in his voice. “If you’re going to do it, you asshole....” he said as he shifted beneath Liam, drawing him out an inch or so and then tightening his legs once more to pull him in as deep as he could. “Just. Fucking. Do it,” he repeated.

The initial shock of Break’s insistence wore off for Liam in a matter of seconds, and the tone in Break’s voice as he spoke eradicated any thought of hesitancy that remained in him. The pressure of Break’s legs around his hips loosened enough that he was able to draw back and then forward again in a first smooth, hard thrust that left both of them panting. He could feel Break’s hands on his upper back, straining with the bindings around his wrists. Liam thrust again, setting a smooth, steady, insistent rhythm that Break followed, his hips rising to meet Liam’s with every thrust, his back arching and his mouth falling open, sighs and cut-off moans emerging with each one of his breaths. Liam fell to kissing Break’s neck again, his biting and sucking and licking more insistent now, the blemishes on Break’s skin only growing in number and darkness.

Break’s hands strained at his bindings, his fingers itching towards Liam’s short, soft hair, longing to tangle in and pull at it. “I want to touch you,” he breathed in Liam’s ear with their next tandem thrust.

Liam pulled his head off of Break’s neck and looked down at him, thrusting harder this time, picking up their pace. “Well...Maybe if you ask nicely I’ll untie you...” he replied.

Break laughed, meeting Liam’s next thrust with even more aggression than before. “Hell no,” he breathed.

“Well, then it looks like my hands are tied,” Liam said with a smirk. He reached up behind him with one arm, grabbing the end of the belt and tugging Break’s hands back over his head, pinning them with one hand to the bed. His free hand reached out and grabbed the headboard, then he thrust again, using the leverage of his grip on the bed to drive Break even harder. The new angle drove Liam directly against Break’s prostate and the gasp he gave was throatier and lustier this time. His fingers strained for purchase on something, and finding only Liam’s hand there he latched onto that. His eyes opened as Liam thrust again at the same angle, and he looked up into Liam’s face.

“You really won’t untie me?” he asked, driving his hips against Liam’s again.

“What will you do to me if I do?” Liam replied smoothly, bending so his lips nearly grazed Break’s as he spoke, all the while continuing to drive him hard enough into the bed that the frame rocked beneath them.

Break hummed low in his throat, his legs running along the outside of Liam’s and then rising to encircle his waist, allowing him to thrust even more deeply into him. Liam’s mouth fell open and he let out a loud groan. Break smiled, thrusting his hips again and easing his legs further up Liam’s body, delighting at the new stretch it gave him and the obvious and delighted surprise on Liam’s face at his partner’s flexibility. “I’ll pull your hair,” he breathed against Liam’s lips. “And maybe if you ask _nicely_ I’ll turn over, let you fuck me that way, on my hands and knees,” he lilted, the barest hint of a kiss in his speech. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Break’s voice was like maddening honey, and the consistent upward slip of his legs and the ever-increasing tightness of his body because of it left Liam panting and desperate, his thrusts growing harder and less hesitant the longer he was inside Break. “Hands and knees is a little basic for my tastes,” Liam replied, his hand dropping from the bedframe to tease at the knot securing Break’s wrists together.

“Well take me up against the wall, then,” Break gasped. “You’re strong enough and I’m flexible enough...Untie me and I’ll ride you against the corner of the wall...My hands in your hair...my legs around your hips...my mouth on yours...Sounds like paradise to me...” As he spoke, Break’s legs inched even higher on Liam’s body, his ankles crossed just beneath Liam’s shoulder blades now, his thrusting up to meet his partner still just as insistent and eager despite the intensity of the position.

The erotic image combined with the tightness and litheness of Break’s body to leave Liam groaning again. He sank against Break’s neck, kissing him hard as he fiddled with the knot in the belt securing his hands together. Break was free in a matter of seconds, and as promised his hands latched instantly into Liam’s hair, tugging at it hard enough that it forced Liam’s head from his neck.

Liam allowed the movement, his own arms wrapping tight around Break and tugging them both up into a sitting position, the shift in position and angle making them both cry out. Break’s legs dropped around Liam’s hips, holding himself up as best he could as Liam shifted on the bed, pulling himself off the bed and to his feet, still fully seated inside Break. He stumbled the few steps to the wall and threw them both against it, driving into Break hard enough that they both gasped. One of Break’s hands reached out and found the edge of one of the mounted paintings on the wall. He clung to it to give himself purchase, his other hand still tugging hard at Liam’s hair. Then, as promised, his hips began to move against Liam, his legs tightening around him. His movements were almost dance-like, quick blending seamlessly with slow, harsh with languid, insistent with silky smooth as though he traced the intricate beat of a melody only he could hear. Each movement of Liam into him at this new angle set thrills of desire radiating along Break’s spine, his desire registering between his legs and all along his spine.

Break could feel the tide of the embrace turning in his favor and he moaned lewdly at Liam’s next thrust, determined to feel him come undone beneath his skillful movements. “Fuck, Liam,” Break crooned in Liam’s ear as they moved against one another again. “You’re so fucking hard...” He ground his hips again, giving in to a lewd moan as Liam’s cock twitched inside him. “God...I can _feel_ you!”

Liam’s next thrust was harder, and he seized control from Break as he drove him back against the wall, his hands looping beneath his hips to hold him still as he thrust hard into him. “You won’t get me undone that easily, you little siren,” he said. His next hard thrust was met with a cry from Break and a telltale tightening of his muscles. Desire flared hard at the back of Liam’s throat and he leaned in to bite at Break’s neck. One of his strong hands rose from Break’s hips to trace tantalizingly around the place where their bodies joined, and both of them cried out as he did.

“How much more can you take?” Liam murmured.

Break’s body lurched down to meet Liam’s finger as he pressed it up inside him alongside his cock. “As much as you want to give me!” he said eagerly.

They gave in to their mutual passion, the consistent battle for dominance forgotten in a heady rush towards climax, spurred on for Break by the increased stretch and for Liam by the absolute wildness of his partner. Their arms and legs around one another were tight and insistent, and their mouths found one another once more and locked in a passionate kiss. Their tongues and lips danced around one another as their hips continued at that unhinged, uncareful pace. Break’s breath caught in his throat after a few more minutes of quick, consistent movement and a familiar tension built between his legs. He pulled away from Liam, his head dropping back into the corner where the walls met, his eyes falling closed. “Liam, I-ah!” He cut off in a shout as Liam’s next thrust carried him deeper than ever before, and ended in a loud groan and a sudden rush of hot fluid as he came into Break. The pulse and shift of Liam’s muscles in him carried Break over the edge himself, and he gave in with a last tug of Liam’s hair to his own orgasm.

It hit him like a free fall as Liam continued to thrust into him through his own climax. His arms tightened around Liam’s neck and he drew their bodies flush against one another as he came. Sticky wetness coated their stomachs and chests, and their lips met again in a last, fevered kiss as they came down from their mutual high.

Break collapsed back against the wall, his legs weakened. Liam mirrored his movements, falling forward, his arms still beneath Break’s hips to keep him up.

Break let out a soft cry, his body hypersensitive after orgasm, as Liam pressed against him and shifted inside him. “Liam...” he whispered.

Liam smirked and turned his head to whisper in Break’s ear. “I knew you’d see things my way...” he whispered.

Break blinked in surprise and turned his face sharply to meet Liam’s eyes. “What the hell do you mean _your_ way?” he said in surprise, unwinding his legs from around Liam’s hips and sliding to the floor before him, resisting the urge to cry out again at the abrupt shift in position. He reached up and pushed hard on Liam’s chest, shoving him back a few inches towards the bed.

“You heard me,” Liam said, grabbing Break’s hips hard and jerking him forward so their hips were flush against one another. The fire of arousal had yet to leave his eyes.

Break rose to meet the challenge there. He took Liam’s hips in the same way Liam was holding his, guiding himself in a slow grind that set Liam moaning. “Fine,” he conceded. “If that was your way...” He took a step forward, forcing Liam back. “Then let me show you mine.”

They were locked in another deep kiss, their lips and tongues and teeth working around one another’s and Break’s legs back around Liam’s hips before they even made it to the bed again.

 

* * *

 

            The sun was shining through the windows on the Casino Royale’s upper floors by the time a telltale click and soft beeping announced that the door was being unlocked. Oz looked up from the computer in his lap, a stern expression on his face as the door swung open to admit Break. Oz’s expression shifted from a scowl to surprise as he took in Break’s appearance. His shirt was untucked and he carried his jacket over one shoulder and his shoes in his other hand. His hair was a mess, stuck to his forehead and the sides of his face in some places by sweat and running rampant in others. His shirt was halfway undone, and Oz’s eyes were drawn immediately to a veritable garden of deep red marks on his neck and chest.

            Break leaned his weight against the door, forcing it closed behind him. He dropped his shoes by the door and tossed his jacket onto a side table nearby. Then, completely ignoring Oz’s eyes on him, he made his way into the kitchen and began to fill a glass of water. “Made your 1.2 million back,” he commented nonchalantly.

            Oz blinked at him in blatant surprise. “That’s...” He slammed his laptop shut and stood, walking towards Break with his arms outstretched. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?! Where the _hell_ were you?! I couldn’t find you on any of the security cameras! I almost sent Raven out looking for you after you left the casino!” he protested.

            “I was just doing what you told me to,” Break said, his voice noticeably hoarse. He took a deep sip of water.

            “And what the fuck is that?!” Oz retorted, crossing his arms and leaning his weight into his hip.

            Break’s eyes flicked up to meet Oz’s. “Just making a scene,” he said with a smile.

           


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who did not read the last chapter, not much of import plot-wise happened, however a large scar on Liam's stomach will come into play later in the series, so it's worth noting that it's there. That's all. 
> 
> Some mild sexual descriptions near the beginning of this chapter and descriptions of violence at the end.
> 
> Also, as a completely random side note, when you translate "Reim" as "Liam" and combine his name with Break's, their new ship name is Leak. It fits them in this AU. Credit to my sister for being the font of dumb pairing names and figuring that out. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

            Liam finished buttoning his vest in place and smoothed it over his chest. A twinge of irritation went through him as a small, disc-shaped object in the breast pocket passed beneath his touch. He removed the poker chip and studied it with narrowed eyes and a perturbed downward tilt to his mouth. _Thanks for the great game, sweetie..._ Maddon’s voice echoed in his head. He glared down at the poker chip for a moment, then looked up around the room. Liam’s usual neatness had fallen victim to his wild night between the sheets with Maddon and as a result the room lay in utter disarray.

The bed was a mess, sheets torn up from one corner, pillows strewn about the floor, the wrinkled and sweaty comforter beside them. Even letting his eyes linger there for one second awoke a tantalizing image in his mind’s eye again: Maddon’s hands secured above his head, held there with his belt, his small, silk-smooth, cat-like body writhing with pleasure as Liam touched him. The dresser across the room, slightly askew against the wall, its drawers hanging open, gave no quarter to his imagination either. He could still feel the smooth, cool wood on his chest, feel his hands clenching and his mouth falling open in groans and lewd phrases with each of Maddon’s shockingly strong, strikingly passionate thrusts. It seemed every surface in the provided a similar memory to set his heart momentarily racing. Even one of the paintings, which were bolted to the walls, had been torn asunder somehow. Liam crossed to it, barely sparing a glance for the colorful flower garden on display in the frame, and picked at a deep gouge left in the wall by the painting’s shifting. His light scratching tore through what little remained of the wall and without warning his knuckle disappeared into a small hole. He jumped in surprise and turned to look at the door in alarm, half-expecting to see a member of the management staff there to chastise him. But his room remained empty. Liam pushed the painting back up into its normal position and took a step away from the wall, satisfied when it remained in place. The smile dropped into a frown as the painting jerked loose again after a second, tearing the hole in the wall slightly wider as it went.

“Fuck,” Liam growled, glancing at the door again. He inspected the hole again, doing his best not to visualize Maddon’s hand clenched around the corner of the painting, the wild, driving passion that had caused it to be torn asunder in the first place. A tickle of arousal fluttering between his legs at the memory hardly surprised Liam, but the small smile on his lips and the momentary, barely-there thought of _I wonder if I’ll see him again today_ made him blanch.

“No,” he said aloud, turning abruptly from the wall and shoving Maddon’s poker chip into his pocket. He walked hurriedly to the door and pulled it open then strode briskly out into the hallway. Panic flew through him and he turned on his heel, reaching desperately for the door just as it slammed resolutely shut. Leaving him in the hallway without a key.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he repeated gruffly. Unable to do anything for now, he shoved himself off the door and stalked towards the elevator, grumbling to himself the whole way. _“_ The best one night stand of my life and what do I get for it? A hole in my wall and now I’m locked out of my room.” Liam’s hand dropped into his pocket as he stopped before the elevator, fiddling with the poker chip as he waited. One of Maddon’s little quips about loss flickered through his head and he released the poker chip.

_You’re fooling yourself, Liam..._ he told himself as the elevator doors slid open. He leaned against the wall, his fingers drifting magnetically to the poker chip once more. _Every time you go thinking he’s not as much of an asshole as you thought at first something bad happens. He’s very clearly **not** who you thought he was. Best one night stand of your life, just drop it and leave it at that. He’s nothing but trouble. If you never see Maddon Kent again, it’ll be too soon._

A soft ding announced Liam’s arrival in the lobby. He removed his hand from his pocket once more and pushed himself off the wall, a management-approved smile sliding onto his lips with practiced ease as the elevator drew to a stop.

            It fell away with all the grace of a car wreck and all the immediacy of a gunshot as soon as he took his first step out onto the rich tile floor. There, only feet from the elevator, leaning against a marble pillar, reading a book like it was the most casual thing in the world, stood Maddon Kent.

 

* * *

 

            The ding of the elevator made Break look up from his book, deserting the world of _Dubliners_ in the middle of a sentence. A smile blossomed on his face as the staff elevator’s doors opened and Liam stepped out into the lobby. It grew so wide it threatened to burst right off his face when Liam noticed him and stopped dead in his tracks.

            Liam’s stillness only lasted the span of a heartbeat before he set off across the lobby, heading directly towards Break. Break remained leaning against the pillar, inspecting his fingernails and tapping his cane at his side boredly as Liam approached.

            “Well, well, well...if it isn’t Maddening Kent. What the hell are you doing here?” Liam growled, coming to a stop a foot or so in front of Break.

            Break snapped his book shut and his eyes flicked up to meet Liam’s. He shook his head softly, almost condescendingly. “I’m staying here, Liam, remember? We talked about this,” he said with a put-upon little sigh.

            Liam’s hand shot out and landed on the pillar beside Break’s head, half pinning him against it. “What. Are you doing. _Here_ ,” he repeated, his voice dropping low, like a threat.

            Break looked up into Liam’s eyes, unfazed by the bold gesture. “I just wanted to tell you I hope you have a good day, Liam. With how fast you kicked me out last night, I didn’t get the chance,” he replied, nonchalant.

            Liam’s eyes narrowed and he leaned down more fully over Break. “You should have taken the hint, _Mad_. I don’t want to see you again,” he said lowly.

            Break gave a little chuckle and pushed himself off the wall, closing most of the gap between he and Liam, so a scant few centimeters saved him from pressing against Liam’s chest. “Well it’s going to be a _long_ day for you, then,” he said with a soft shake of his head and another nonplussed shrug. One of his hands rose and ran along the underside of Liam’s jaw, lighting over the thick coat of cover up Liam had put on to disguise outward signs of their wild night. Break’s thin index finger found a deep red mark where Liam’s jaw met his neck. “You missed a spot,” he said, a flicker of a tease in his voice.

            Liam’s hand rose to smack Break’s away and he covered the mark with his own hand. “So did you,” he said, nodding down at the mass of undisguised hickeys marring the pale skin of Break’s neck.

            Break giggled and tipped his head, exposing the bruises there further. “Do I look like I give a damn?” he asked with a wicked grin.

            Liam opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the bright, rich sound of ringing bells from the village nearby, signaling noon.

            Break’s eyebrows rose. “Ooh, looks like you’re going to be late for work,” he said, feigned sympathy on his face. “You really should work on that, Liam...It’s a _very_ unattractive trait.”

            Liam’s mouth dropped open, unable to even muster a reply before Break gave a little shrug and a close-mouthed laugh, then slipped out from beneath Liam’s arm and began to walk away without so much as a glance backwards.

            “Well...until we meet again!” Break said through a giggle as he walked off.

Though he couldn’t hear whatever expletive Liam no doubt muttered to his receding form, Break could all but feel Liam’s eyes burning holes in his back as he walked off across the lobby.

            _You kicked me out, you cold-hearted little slut. This is what you get,_ Break thought to himself, tucking his hands deep into the pockets of the well-tailored slacks he wore and adding an extra swing to his hips, sure Liam was still watching as he reached the opposite end of the lobby and breezed out onto the richly populated pool deck. He pulled a pair of sunglasses from the pocket of his shirt and slipped them on, then looked around for a seat. He took his time selecting a table near the beach, enjoying a short promenade around the pool deck to reach it and the pressure of dozens of pairs of wealthy eyes scrutinizing his every move. He opened his book again as he sat gracefully, folding his legs and leaning back in his chair. He glanced up over the top of his sunglasses and smiled to himself. He’d chosen his seat carefully, one situated on the far end of the pool deck but still in clear view of the open terrace of the restaurant where he and Liam had eaten dinner the night before. Through several sets of open French doors, Break could clearly see the large, ornate bar against the restaurant’s back wall. And its bartender, who was just arriving for an afternoon shift.

            Liam.

            He smiled in satisfaction but forced his eyes away, diverting his attention back down to the book in his lap. He shifted on his chair and pulled his miniscule notebook from his back pocket, along with the stub of a pencil that marked his page. He rested it on his knee beside his book, so that he could inconspicuously make notes on the strangers surrounding him while under the guise of notating on the book he held. He settled into the appearance of reading, devoting only a third or so of his attention to the words on the page, using the rest to subtly observe those around him.

            It was now roughly 24 hours until Zai was to arrive at the Casino Royale, and Break was certain that the wealthy man’s fixation with his personal safety would manifest itself in the presence of members of his personal guard disguised as workers at Monte Carlo. Break was determined to find them and – if possible – eliminate them before their employer arrived, and definitely before the ball in 2 nights’ time. The fewer guns at the party aside from the ones he himself would be carrying, the better, Break rationalized. And if he just so _happened_ to have chosen a spot to conduct his observations that was in full view of the bar where he knew (having stolen a glance at Liam’s work schedule while Liam had been in the bathroom the night before) that Liam would be working that day, then so much the better. Even their brief meeting in the lobby had been charged with electricity and Break found the idea of letting Liam off the hook after the best one-night stand of his life to be a very unappealing one.

            Within an hour, patterns among the guests and employees began to emerge and become evident to Break’s trained eye. Everyone from women lounging in the pool’s opal-bright shallows to the hotel’s personal butlers for hire became suspect, and he noted the observations of each in meticulous detail. Break didn’t try nearly as hard as he could have to keep his eyes from wandering periodically to Liam at his post, and more than a few times he caught those captivating hazel eyes on him, too. The pool deck had emptied of its daytime crowd and a heady sunset in peaches and purples and golds had come over the sky like a blush by the time Break was satisfied with the observations he’d made. His position had afforded him views of the pool, the beach, a quantity of the grounds, the bar and restaurant, and the casino’s entrance, and in the hours he’d spent watching he’d managed to distinguish over a dozen suspicious figures sprinkled in among the clueless guests and busy staff.

            Break allowed himself the luxury of closing his notebook and reclining back in his chair to more casually observe the smaller clusters of guests that had begun to appear in tailored suits and bold jewel-encrusted evening gowns for dinner at one of the resort’s dozen or so gourmet restaurants. He signaled a passing waiter and picked up the cocktail menu, scanning it quickly as the trim man approached.

            “I’d like to order a drink for the bartender,” he said, nodding towards the distant Liam.

            The man stifled a chuckle. It was abundantly clear in his demeanor that he recognized Break, and that word of Liam’s loss in the casino and the scene he and Break had subsequently made had spread like wildfire through the staff. “Yes sir...What will he be drinking?” he asked jovially.

            “A vodka martini. Shaken,” Break replied, snapping the menu shut and looking up at the man. He reached into his pocket and fished out the gold card Oz had given him, handing it off. “Charge it to my room, please. 7001.”

            A look of mild surprise passed over the waiter’s face as Break mentioned the room number. Break’s trained eye caught it, and any suspicion that the waiter might be a spy of Zai’s flitted away. The man wrote down the order and took Break’s card, then vanished.

            Break settled to reading his book again, hardly noticing when the waiter returned and laid his card on the table. He finished the last chapter, reading each word carefully and pausing longer than he normally would over long sentences and bits of dialogue to stretch out the time he would need to finish it. By the time he was done the sunset had drenched away into a twilight that echoed the shades of the sea below, all teal and steel-grey. He closed his book on the last sentence with a contented sigh, and flicked his gaze up to take in the sight of the Casino Royale gloriously illuminated against the opaque darkness settling around it. The bar glistered brightly, only moderately populated at this early hour but no less enchanting for it, every surface crystalline and sparkling, and Liam radiating among the gold and ivory and rich oil paintings on its walls.

            A quick scan of the rest of the building’s visible rooms told Break what he’d been expecting to learn. Most of the hotel’s patrons were occupied with dressing in their rooms, pre-dinner cocktails, or walks on the beach. It was the perfect time to poke around in areas he as a guest wasn’t strictly allowed to be. He and Oz had spent hours poring over digital maps and schematics of the casino hotel’s floors, hallways, and salons, and with that working knowledge Break was determined to test out and walk the best possible escape routes in case the plan he and Oz had generated for dealing with Zai went awry in any way.

            Break pulled himself to his feet, pocketed his card and picked up his cane, and after tucking his book under his arm set off at a brisk pace towards the bar. He skirted around the pool and tripped up the few stairs into the bar, his easy and knowingly infuriating smile already on his mouth.

            Liam, predictably, caught Break’s eye as soon as he entered the bar. He continued to pin Break with his gaze as he made his way across the floor, and his eyes narrowed into a true glare as Break sauntered up to the bar and leaned against it.

            “So, sweetie, good day at work?” Break asked, leaning his elbow on the bar and propping his chin in his hand.

            Liam offered no reply, instead reaching behind the bar and then setting something on top of it. An empty martini glass. He maintained eye contact with Break as he reached for a bottle of vodka behind the bar, and one of vermouth beside it. He poured precise amounts of both into a shaker, then added ice cubes, capped the shaker off, and overturned it a few times. He poured the shaken martini silently, still watching Break as he removed a skewer of olives from a nearby dish and dropped it into the glass. He pushed it towards Break, then leaned on the bar and finally spoke. “Do we need to have that conversation again about what the hell your problem is?!”

            Break shrugged. “If that conversation ends the same way as it did last night, then hell yeah I think we need to have it again,” he said.

            Liam’s hand clenched into a fist and rose as though to slam down on the bar. He took a measured breath, closing his eyes for a moment and steadying himself, then grated out the only reply he could manage. “Would you fuck off? I’m working.”

            “If you insist...” Break picked up the martini glass from the bar and raised it to Liam in a toast, then took a sip. He did everything in his power to mitigate a disgusted reaction at the bitter flavor of the drink, forcing his grimace to become a smile instead. “Thanks for the drink,” he said, giving Liam a wink as he turned to go.

 

* * *

 

            Liam’s jaw positively dropped. There he went again. Maddon Kent. The walking representation of which buttons to push to piss him off. The abstract concepts of cockiness and bravado made man. Liam’s fist clenched again as Maddon walked off, and he was unable to stop himself from pounding his fist on the solid wood of the counter. He raised it after a second, shaking off a sting of pain and grimacing. “Thanks for the drink,” he mocked, twisting his voice into something squeaky and obnoxious to imitate Maddon’s admittedly soft and lovely speech.

            Irritation prickled through Liam as he traced Maddon’s path across the lobby as far as the fountain, where he passed out of sight. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

            “Excuse me,” a slinky, red-haired woman drawled as she approached the bar. “I’ll have a grasshopper, please...with extra mint and no cream.” Her brow furrowed as Liam’s attention remained fixed on the spot where Maddon had vanished. “Excuse me?” she demanded. “Can you hear me?”

            _Your shift’s not over for another 2 hours...you’ll be able to find him again in two hours...Come on, Zai will be here tomorrow, and the last thing you need is him angry at you...Don’t lose your job right before the biggest gala of the year..._ Liam’s rational side begged. He hesitated for a moment, almost turning to the bar to fetch the ingredients for the woman’s drink. But as he did, his hand brushed against the poker chip in his pocket. He looked up at the woman, then looked back at the lobby. He took one step back, paused, and then took another. _You’re breaking the rules, you idiot..._ a cautious voice in his head warned. He slammed down on it and took another step back, barely giving the woman another glance and a hasty “sorry, I’ll be right back,” before he ducked out from behind the bar and took off across the lobby. He scanned it as he ran towards the fountain, searching for a tapping cane or a hint of Maddon’s white hair. He skidded to a halt and looked around furiously, his heart racing. He caught sight of Maddon just as he was vanishing through a doorway marked Employees Only on the lobby’s upper floor.

            “Can’t you read, moron?” Liam grumbled out loud as he took off across the lobby after Maddon. He took the stairs three at a time, barely dodging a few clusters of chatting guests as he ran after Maddon, a harsh reprimand for him already stinging on his tongue. He tore the door Maddon had vanished through open as he reached it, nearly flattening one of the dealers as she was exiting into the lobby. She shrieked in surprise and Liam gave her a quick apology, then turned his attention back to the stairwell he now found himself in. As all of Monte Carlo’s behind-the-scenes areas were it was scarcely lit and bare of all but the most basic ornamentation. Hallways branched off in both before Liam and to his right, vanishing into the massive resort’s depths. On his left, a staircase led both up and down. _Which way did you go, asshole?_ Liam wondered, looking around and holding his breath, listening for any tiny sound and watching for the barest hint of movement. He waited a full 30 seconds in silence to no avail. Maddon had vanished without a trace.

            Liam had been gone far too long from the bar by now, and he knew it. But it was too late to make amends to the customer he’d slighted, and when his manager noticed his absence he’d be just as much in trouble for being gone 20 minutes as he would be for being gone just 5. His heart still racing in his ears, Liam took a chance and darted down the stairs to his left, taking them two at a time, running as silently as he could in what he hoped was the same direction as Maddon, down towards the hotel’s lower floors where the staff quarters, kitchen storage, and enormous laundry rooms lay.

            He was breathing hard by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, his heart thundering even louder in his ears as he looked both ways down the long hall for Maddon. This time when he stopped to listen a muffled shout from his right caught his attention. He jumped at the sound, his breath catching. Another shout, this one followed by a heavy thump, and Liam was taking off down the hallway, running at full speed, his arms pumping madly. He came to a stop at the end of the hall and poked his head around the corner, doing his best to stay quiet. He bit his lip hard to stifle a cry as he took in what was just beyond, at the entrance to one of the large laundry rooms. Four large men, all dressed in hotel employees’ uniforms, lay dead or dying on the floor, their throats cut and violent slashes marring their bodies and faces. Two more remained conscious, one on his feet and holding a handgun and the other kneeling atop a small, squirming figure on the floor.

            It was Maddon, pinned beneath one of the largest men Liam had ever seen. A bloody sword and a wicked-looking switchblade lay a few feet from him, and a sleek silver pistol had skidded to a halt against a wall nearby. Maddon was struggling, twisting his wrists and doing everything in his power to free his arms. They were both twisted violently up behind his back, held secure by one of the thug’s meaty hands. The large man’s other hand was clamped around Maddon’s hair, drawing his head back so he was looking straight up into the waiting gunman’s face. The posture made a growing welt on the side of Maddon’s head clear, as well as revealing a defiant spark in his eyes even in the face of imminent death.

            “For Zai,” the gunman said as he cocked the hammer.

* * *

 

              To say Break was unprepared for the attack would have been a lie. As soon as he vanished from the public eye he’d tugged a handgun from his jacket pocket and pressed his thumb to the sensor on his cane to turn it into a sword. He knew Zai had been watching him all day, just like he’d been watching for him. Now that he was out of sight of the other guests, Break was sure at least one or two of the people he’d marked as likely members of Zai’s personal guard would make an attempt to eliminate him.

            The choice of which way to go first was easy. Oz had made no secret of the existence of extensive underground walkways and servants’ stairs, most of which led off the property in some fashion. Break was eager to discover if they would be as viable an escape route as Oz had made them out to be, and so had slipped with his back to the wall and his weapons poised at the ready down the stairs towards what he could only assume was Monte Carlo’s basement. He’d used his sword as a sort of mirror to peer around every corner he encountered, assuring himself of the absence of attackers. Each empty passage filled him with more anxiety, and it was with a sense of something akin to relief that he heard the telltale sound of shifting weight as he approached the end of one long hallway.

            When he raised his sword, he was hardly surprised to see two waiting figures in the hallway beyond, both apparently large and with what appeared to be blunt-force weapons in their hands. _Word really does travel fast around here, doesn’t it?_ he thought wryly as he shifted his grip on his sword and pressed on the thumb pad again, flicking his wrist to set the folds of the shimmering metal whip moving.

            Break emerged into the hallway already lashing out with his cane. He caught one of the would-be attackers around the throat and opened his throat all the way around with a single, fluid step. The man gurgled a last breath and fell to his knees, his club toppling from his hand and his face smashing into the hard concrete.

            The moment of surprise as the dead man’s partner took in the gruesome scene allowed Break the second he needed to lash out with his whip again. He missed the second assailant’s throat, his whip snatching instead on the hard metal of the cane the man raised to deflect the blow.

            This thug was clearly one of Zai’s smarter ones, and he didn’t waste the opportunity to twist Break’s whip further in his cane and yank hard to disarm him.

            Break allowed himself to be thrown forward by the force of the man’s strong arm, and when he was within striking distance he released his hold on his cane and drew his switchblade, his hand flicking into and out of his pocket with lightning speed. He collided hard with the large man’s chest, knocking the breath out of him with a knee to the sternum then making quick work of slicing his throat violently open from ear to ear.

            He heard the third attacker before he saw him, and ducked easily beneath a wild swing with a club, rolling forward over the body of the man he’d just killed to grab his sword again. He released his switchblade as he did and rounded on the man just in time to raise his cane to deflect another heavy blow. He grunted with the effort as the much heavier man bore down on him, then lifted his handgun and fired three times. The first shot went wide, but the next struck the man in the jaw, and the third between his eyes. The installed silencer insured that the three gunshots were far quieter than the sound of the man’s body hitting the ground.

            The second wave of attacks were the ones that took Break by surprise. The cold chill of an opponent he knew he was outmatched by ricocheted through Break as he stood and turned to see two more men approaching from the darkness of the nearby laundry room. Both of them were at least six inches taller than he was, and looked as though they weighed a good hundred pounds more apiece. Both were armed with clubs and machetes.

            Break steadied himself and raised his gun to make short work of them before they could approach any further, but was interrupted as a third man materialized behind him and smacked him hard on the head with a club. Stars and high-pitched ringing paraded across Break’s brain and he cried out, falling to his knees involuntarily. His gun discharged again as he fell, and then skittered away across the floor. The threat of unconsciousness only grew more real as he fell forward onto the hard concrete, his head cracking solidly against it.

            _Shit. Don’t die. You can’t die here, you fuck. Come on. Fight! You’re still conscious, FIGHT!_ Break coached himself. Every bone in his body protested his attempt at movement, but the sheer desire to survive outweighed all other concerns as he felt the weight of a hand pressing on his back, forcing him into the ground. He gave a shout and lunged backwards, relieved to find his cane still in his hand. The two distant attackers had grown close enough that Break’s strike caught one of them around the arm. He tugged with all his might and the enormous man crashed to the ground before him, his head whacking on the floor. Break seized the man’s machete as he fell and drove it hard into the back of his neck, severing his spinal cord in a single sharp downward strike.

            As he somehow knew it would be, the hand was back on his back before he could do any more. He lashed out wildly with his cane and kicked hard with his legs, struggling as madly as he could against the crushing weight of the heavy man atop him, and the even more crushing threat of unconsciousness.

            His heart picked up at an unbelievable pace and he was unable to stop another, more desperate cry from escaping him as he heard the sound of the standing attacker’s machete and club hitting the floor, followed just seconds later by the sound of a gun being drawn from a holster. The man atop him yanked his head back and forced his face up. He found himself staring directly into the barrel of a handgun, and his heart seized in terror.

            He forced himself to look away from it, to meet his killer’s eyes. _At least I took these motherfuckers with me...I hope Raven and Oz get the fuck out of here..._ he thought, a scared, defiant smile blooming on his lips in the face of the sound of a gun cocking. _Don’t close your eyes. They win if you close your eyes_ , he told himself.

            “For Zai,” the gunman said, his voice cold and gruff.

            Break was braced for pain. For cold. For darkness. For terror. He was ready, as all agents in the field had to be, to die at any moment.

            What he was not braced for was the sudden sight of a bullet hole appearing in his assassin’s temple, and the explosion of reddish grey brain tissue and blood on the wall behind him half a second later. The thud of the man falling backwards onto the concrete was even more deafening in his current position, enough to startle him out of the stupor that semi-consciousness had left him in.

            “What the-“ the man atop Break gasped.

            Break felt the weight atop him shift, then vanish entirely as the thug stood and whirled to face his new adversary. Break regained his faculties enough to struggle into a half-sitting position as the thundering sound of the thug’s footsteps going down the hall the other way. Break turned over his shoulder just in time to see a recognizable figure tossing the spent handgun aside and stooping to pick up one of the fallen clubs as the mass of a man that had been pinning Break reached him.

            Liam side-stepped gracefully, then delivered a powerful roundhouse kick to the man’s side as he passed, knocking the breath from him. The man coughed, doubling over in surprise, and Liam gave him another kick to the back, sending him sprawling face-first on the ground. He raised the club above his head and dropped it with lethal force against the man’s temple. He died with a sickening crack of his skull and a long wheeze of breath.

            Liam looked up at Break, his eyes sharp and his mouth open already to scold him. Before he could make a sound, a bright flash of light caught both of their attention and they whipped around to face the darkened laundry room further down the hall.

            A slight, black-haired woman dressed in a maid’s uniform stood there. She had a long knife in one hand and a small camera in the other, the source of the flashing light that had distracted Liam and Break. Before either of them could say a word to her she turned and sprinted off down the hallway, disappearing into the darkness without a word.

            “ _Fuck!_ ” Liam hissed as the woman ran off. His attention snapped instantly back to Break. “Thanks a lot for blowing my cover, asshole!” Liam’s voice rose to a shout and he threw the club still in his hand as hard as he could against the wall nearby.

            Shock and awe ran through Break and he blinked at Liam, his still scattered brain unable to make sense of the phrase. “I’m sorry...your _cover_?!” he asked in disbelief.

            Liam raised an eyebrow, equally incredulous. “You really didn’t figure it out?!” he raged. He gave a bitter laugh and tugged himself to his feet, closing the distance between he and Break in a few steps. He extended a hand down, a crooked smile awakening on his lips. “Agent Liam Lunettes. 001. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said gruffly.

            Break could do no more than continue to blink up in stupefied silence. Liam. The casino dealer. Cover. Agent 001, M16’s strongest fighter, a veritable legend among agents, prodigiously gifted in the field, whose declassified missions were used to inspire awe and admiration in new trainees. _Oh shit..._ Break realized. _Looks like I slept with my commanding officer..._ These facts, along with the rest of Break’s reality, instantly paled in comparison to one singular idea: that all this time Liam’s been disguising something in his voice. Because when he drops all pretenses...

            Liam has an Irish accent.


	11. Chapter 11

“00...1...?” Break squeaked. “ _The_ agent Lunettes?”

            “Yes, motherfucker, _the_ agent Lunettes,” Liam said, waving his offered hand in front of Break’s face. Break remained in stupefied silence and Liam took a step backwards, tossing his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “You know what? Fine. Stay on the floor. I’m getting out of here before that bitch with the camera calls reinforcements to cut me to fucking ribbons.”

            Shock finally wore off for Break as Liam turned over his shoulder, apparently genuinely meaning to leave him behind. Ignoring the pain in the swelling welt on his head he scrambled to his feet, gathered up his fallen weapons, and began to follow Liam. “W-wait, but 001’s been undercover for-“

            “Five years, six weeks, and two days,” Liam said, whipping around to face Break. He read the shock on his face and laughed. “Yeah, that’s fucking right. I went undercover at 17, probably before you’d even started your _training_. And now it’s all up in smoke! Thanks a lot!” Liam turned again, stalking off towards the back of the laundry room, where a stair lit by harsh emergency lights was faintly visible. He stopped along the way to pick up one of the thugs’ pistols, examining it then flipping the safety off and holding it at the ready.

            Break blinked. “You...knew who I was the whole time?” he asked, forcing himself to trot after Liam if only to keep the conversation going.

            “Yes, I knew who you were the whole time. You’re Xerxes Break, 007. Sheryl’s favorite _rookie_ ,” Liam said over his shoulder, the last word full of the sting of implication. He turned to look at Break as they reached the staircase, his eyes betraying nothing of his emotions. “Were you sent to help me with Zai?” he asked.

            Break chuckled. “Not exactly...I was sent to Haiti to take down his son’s Jackrabbit ring there and apprehend he and Raven,” he said.

            Liam rolled his eyes and started up the stairs. “Oh, well that explains why you’re here, then. I suppose there are worse places to go to burn off your budget after failing a mission,” he replied sharply, not bothering to hide a note of smug satisfaction in his voice.

            Break stopped in his tracks halfway up the stairs behind Liam, a wicked smirk alighting on his face. “I didn’t fail my mission,” he said.

            Liam froze, then turned once more to face Break. He descended a few stairs, closing the distance between them and looking down at Break with narrowed eyes. “What the hell do you mean you didn’t fail your mission? If Oz is in custody that means someone killed Raven. And you don’t honestly expect me to believe that _you_ could handle Raven in combat, do you?! You couldn’t even take care of six thugs dressed as gardeners without my help!” he countered sharply.

            Break met Liam’s eyes, the growingly familiar challenge and glinting irritation in them setting his blood stirring with attraction. “I didn't fail my mission. Oz and Raven are in this hotel,” he replied.

            Liam rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Bullshit.”

            Break’s hand dropped into his pocket, already feeling for the solid gold key he was keeping there. “Want to bet?”

   

* * *

 

 

In Break’s absence, the suite had settled into a rare state of quiet. Raven sat on the couch in the living room, a slight, contented smile on his face and a copy of the London Times open on an iPad in front of him. A cup of coffee sat cooling on the table beside him, which he picked up and took a long sip from as he clicked the screen to turn the page.

            A slight stirring on the couch beside him made Raven look up from his reading. Raven set his coffee aside and looked down at Oz, who was stretched out on the couch with his head resting in his lap. The young man’s eyes were closed and his face relaxed in sleep, one of his hands resting loosely on Raven’s knee and his hair falling into his face. Raven’s smile took on new warmth as his free hand dropped into Oz’s hair and pushed it behind his ear. His thumb rose and smoothed away a wrinkle over Oz’s right temple.

            Seeming to sense Raven’s touch, Oz turned over slightly and smiled in his sleep. Raven set the iPad down on the arm of the couch and slipped his right hand into Oz’s on his knee. Oz’s fingers tightened around Raven’s and he turned slightly, burrowing his face against Raven’s leg. Butterflies stirred in Raven’s stomach as Oz moved. _Wake up..._ he prayed, his breath catching. _Wake up and hold my hand for real..._

            Another silent minute ticked by with Raven’s hand dancing through Oz’s hair, his short nails rubbing soothing circles against his scalp. He blinked as a few lingering rays of sunlight made their way through the open door out onto the balcony, and turned to watch the sun sink gloriously below the horizon. A radiant beam arced across Oz’s face, illuminating his slightly tanned skin and igniting his hair into an inferno of molten gold. Deep affection swelled in Raven and he blinked slowly down at Oz’s sleeping form.

            “Sunset becomes you, Juniper...” Raven whispered. His hand lifted from Oz’s hair and alighted on a thin chain beneath his shirt. He pulled on it and a small locket came free. He clutched the small bronze filigree sphere loosely in his palm and lifted it to his nose, inhaling deeply. A strong smell of juniper berries filled his nose as he did.

“You don’t have to wear that every day just because I gave it to you...”

            Oz’s sleepy voice startled Raven and he jumped. He made to move his hand from Oz’s, his alarm manifesting itself in the instinct to draw a weapon. Deep, happy surprise radiated through him as Oz gripped his fingers harder, keeping their hands from separating. “Raven...” he murmured.

            “Oz, I...” Raven blinked and swallowed, his heart still racing. He looked up and around instinctively, searching for someone who might reprimand he and Oz for the gesture of intimacy.

            “We’re alone,” Oz comforted, his voice still heavy with sleep. He turned on his back and lifted he and Raven’s hands from his knees, then placed them over his heart. “It’s okay...sweetheart.”

            Raven’s mouth fell open and another wave of warmth passed through him. “S-sweetheart...?” he asked, hopeful.

            “Sweetheart,” Oz affirmed. His free hand drifted up to Raven’s face, running along his jaw and coming to rest at his hairline. He pulled the cigarette from behind his ear and rolled it between his fingers. “Sunset becomes you...sweetheart,” he murmured.

            “You heard that?” Raven asked, embarrassment coloring his cheeks pink.

            With his hand over Oz’s heart, Raven could feel the increase in Oz’s pulse as he answered. “Yeah...It made me happy...” he said quietly. “You...Raven...You make me happy.”

            Raven froze, tension passing down his spine. Hope hung in every fragile moment between them, and almost 30 silent seconds passed before he dared to speak again. “Oz...I thought...You’ve always said it was just...just sex...” he breathed, terror and elation equally present in his voice.

            Oz met Raven’s eyes and opened his mouth, then let it fall shut again. He smiled contentedly up at him and pressed his hand more solidly over his heart. “So have you...But once my father’s dead we won’t have to hide anymore, will we? Things can change.” He squeezed Raven’s hand. “ _We_ can change.”

            Raven bit his lip, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He swallowed a protest and smoothed his free hand over Oz’s forehead once more. “I want that,” he said simply. “I want that so badly. But Oz, there are things...things about me you don’t know. Things...you wouldn’t understand.”

            “Then help me understand,” Oz begged. He sat up out of Raven’s lap and turned towards him on the couch, their hands entwined still. His face was full of gorgeous, desperate, pleading happiness in the fading light. “Please...Please, tell me what’s wrong, Raven.”

            “Nothing’s wrong,” Raven replied instantly. The slight smile vanished from his face and he tugged gently on Oz’s fingers, trying to get him to release him.

            “Raven,” Oz said again, holding Raven’s fingers, refusing to let him pull away. “I’ve known you since I was five years old, I _know_ there’s something bothering you. Why the secrecy? Why the sorrow? We share everything, Raven. It’s us against the world, just like Oscar used to say. Remember? I’d share my whole _life_ with you if you’d let me! It’s too late to shut me out, Raven, I’m already here. So... _please_...just let me in.”

            “I...” Raven looked down, his hand settling once more beneath Oz’s. “Oz...not now. Not yet.” He nodded and looked up to meet Oz’s eyes. He opened his mouth then let it fall shut.

            Oz deflated with a long sigh, not of disappointment, but of resignation. “...Well is there anything I can do to help?” he asked quietly.

            Raven bit down a thick, coursing channel of sadness biting through him. He smiled bravely for Oz and met his eyes. “...Call me sweetheart again?” he said softly and hesitantly.

            Oz nodded and reached out to wrap a hand around the back of Raven’s neck. He eased forward until their lips were only a few centimeters apart then opened his mouth to speak. “Sweetheart.” His breath warmed Raven’s lips, and they both smiled as they came together in a long, slow kiss.

            Oz’s arm slipped more fully around Raven’s neck and Raven echoed the gesture, his hand dropping from Oz’s hair to encircle his waist and draw him near. They shifted together, Raven stretching out on the couch and Oz climbing atop him. Oz let out a small sigh, his hips rocking instinctively down towards Raven’s at the new contact. Their kiss deepened, lips parting and opening against one another’s, bodies softening, hands grazing familiar skin. Raven’s fingers danced up Oz’s spine, setting him trembling, and Oz’s fingers rose from Raven’s neck to graze the sensitive skin behind Raven’s earlobe. Raven let out an immediate moan into the kiss, his back arching slightly against Oz’s.

            The last vestiges of teal twilight peeled away from the walls around them, and outside the resort’s lights began to flicker on, illuminating paths through the gardens, igniting the pool like an ocean of aquamarine topaz. Music picked up from somewhere far below as a string quartet began to play at one of the restaurants. It was fully dark by the time Raven finally pulled away from the kiss and buried his face against Oz’s shoulder. He inhaled the smell of juniper coming from his locket, and the clean, piney scent of the cologne Oz wore.

            “Juniper,” he murmured. “I...What happened with Break...in Haiti...” His voice trailed off as Oz leaned away from him.

            Oz leaned up on his elbows, looking down at Raven with unreadable eyes. Silence settled between them, and as it extended anxiety prickled through Raven’s blood.

            “Oz?” Raven asked finally, a weight of dread settling on him.

            “It wasn’t your fault,” Oz replied, doing his best to smile. “It’s fine.”

            A note of coldness in the last two words almost made Raven wince, but he held back, forcing himself to be steady in Oz’s arms.

            “Just...If things are going to change between us, once my father’s dead...” Oz’s voice grew a little firmer. “The other men...It _has_ to stop...” His eyes grew sadder and he shifted, resting his head on Raven’s chest again. “Don’t break my heart again...Please.”

            Raven’s eyes closed and his jaw tensed. He raised a hand and placed it on the back of Oz’s head. “I won’t,” he said softly. “I promise.”

            Oz tipped his head up and tugged lightly on Raven’s hair, urging their lips together again. Raven obliged and they fell into another long kiss, heady silence and implication settling like a coat of feathers over them.

            The quiet beep of the suite’s door unlocking as a key was inserted into it made them spring apart, Oz leaping off of Raven and Raven straightening into a sitting position, a long, curved blade materializing in his hand from a sheath hidden flat against his back.

            The flash of Break’s pale face and elegant step as he opened the door eased Raven slightly out of combat readiness.

            “Honey, I’m home,” Break called jovially as he entered. He caught sight of Raven and Oz instantly and stopped in the doorway, turning over his shoulder to speak to someone behind him. “Ready to lose another bet?” he asked, swinging the door wider to admit his companion.

            Raven’s eyes flew wide instantly and his stomach plummeted as recognition whammed through him. A tall, strong build. Hazel eyes concealed behind narrow, gold-framed glasses. Mousy brown hair and a thin, intelligent face. _Liam...What’s the late-night bartender doing here?_ His grip on his knife loosened for an instant and his face fell into open shock. “You...?” he breathed.

            Raven only registered that Liam was holding a pistol when he lowered it slightly. “Holy shit...” Liam said, surprise flickering across his face as well. His arm turned, exposing a sleeve covered in blood. Raven’s spine tingled nervously.

            “What are you doing here?” Raven said, his eyes locked directly on Liam’s, his heart thundering in his chest.

            “I’m a friend,” Liam promised.

            _He has an accent?_ Raven pushed the thought aside and narrowed his eyes. “Friends don’t point pistols at each other,” he said defensively, gathering Oz a little closer.

            Liam hesitated. “...Fair enough,” he finally conceded, dropping his gun to his side but maintaining a ready hold on it.

            Raven’s defenses were still high, his heart thundering in his chest. “And casino dealers usually don’t hold pistols like trained professionals...” he went on, allowing the tapering-off at the end of his sentence to work as a question.

            “He’s not a dealer,” Break interjected. “Not really. He’s an MI6 agent too.”

            Liam hesitated, clearly on edge about saying more. “I’m...Liam Lunettes. 001,” he said half-reluctantly.

            “001?” Oz asked incredulously. He looked Liam up and down, almost as though he were weighing him with his eyes. His gaze flicked to Break. “Are you sure?”

            “He just saved my life,” Break affirmed.

            “I just saved his life,” Liam said at the exact same time.

            They looked at one another, Break’s head tipping back to meet Liam’s eyes and Liam narrowing his eyes in a challenge. Raven’s eyebrows rose mildly at the sight of the wickedly powerful attraction radiating between them.

            Break broke the stare and returned his attention to Oz. “Your father had men here, like I thought. Six of them ambushed me in the basement. I would have been dead if Liam hadn’t followed me and helped.”

            Oz nodded slowly, considering Liam. “001...” He let out a laugh that dissolved the tension in the room in a heartbeat and sank back on the couch closer to Raven. “Well what the hell are the odds?” His face took on a look of iridescent calculation. “You’re just the man I’ve been looking for.”

            Raven and Break exchanged a confused look and Liam took a step back, his pistol rising slightly again. “What do you mean...looking for...?”

            “To help me kill my father,” Oz answered matter-of-factly. “I hacked your organization’s systems hoping a security breach would be enough of a cause for MI6 to send a highly ranked agent after me-“

            “And you got 00 fuck up?” Liam interjected bluntly.

            “And I got 00 fuck up.” Oz agreed with a nod.

            “Sorry for your loss,” Liam said.

            “Much appreciated.” Oz and Liam both ignored an outraged cry from Break.

            “So...what then? You were waiting for MI6 to send an agent to Haiti to hunt you...Then what?”

            Oz nodded at Raven, who colored slightly as all sets of eyes in the room turned on him. “That’s where the certified, 100% Russian badass comes in. Lure an agent to Haiti. Have Raven incapacitate them in combat. Strike a deal for my father’s death and have the agent help me kill him. Stick the bastard in the ground, assume control of the company, and pay off the lucky MI6 agent for letting me go and effectively betraying one of the most dangerous organizations on earth. Simple, really.”

            Liam absorbed the story in a few seconds of silence then turned to Break. “I thought you said you _didn’t_ fail your mission,” he said, a gloating edge to his smile.

            “ _Technically_ I didn’t,” Break argued. He raises a hand and pointed at Raven, who blushed again as Liam’s eyes locked on him once more. “Look. Jackrabbit and Raven, Oz Vessalius and Gilbert Richardson, in custody. Right there.”

            Liam quirked an incredulous eyebrow then turned to Raven. “Please dear God tell me you kicked his ass,” he said, leaning his weight into one hip and raising an eyebrow.

            Raven stifled a laugh, biting on his lip to keep it in. Something about Liam’s brilliant joviality drove a wedge between Raven and the silence that was his usual aesthetic. “Literally into the ground,” he confirmed.

            “Good.” Another spark of passionate fire lanced through the air between Liam and Break as they looked at each other again. “So. _This_ is what I blew my cover for. 5 years of back-breaking work getting close to one of the most dangerous and well-connected men in the international black market and for what? A rookie agent who didn’t just fail his mission but made a deal with his target, _another_ of the most dangerous and well-connected men in the international black market.”

            Tension crackled between Liam and Break again. “No...you blew your cover for a chance to kill Zai,” he said quietly. “That’s what you said you’re here to do, right? Well, silver linings, Liam...Oz and I already have a plan in place. For tomorrow night, at the ball...” Break smiled coquettishly. “I could use some backup...”

            “Oh, you’re asking _me_ to be _your_ backup?!” Liam guffawed. “No. Not a goddamn chance. I’ll help you, but from here on out things happen on _my_ terms. Understand?”

            Break hummed softly. “But Liam, last night you seemed to like it _so_ much better when I showed you things my way...” he murmured.

            Oz raised a finger to his mouth, biting hard on it to keep from laughing and Raven stifled another chuckle.

            “Oh, you’re _really_ going to keep flirting with me?” Liam asked. “After every _bullshit_ move you’ve pulled over the course of the last two days?”

            “Absolutely,” Break replied with a nod. “I need the practice...”

            Liam froze. “The...practice...?” he asked.

            Raven, having caught on, couldn’t stop a slow smile from spreading up his face. “The ball tomorrow night...If you’re going to be helping us you’ll need to disguise your identity...” he chuckled.

            Realization dawned in Oz’s eyes and he stifled a laugh behind his hand. “And Break’s ticket includes a plus one.”

            “For a certain lovely lady of my choosing...I was planning on bringing an heiress or some European noble’s daughter...but maybe a flower with more thorns would suit me better? Wouldn’t you say, Liam?” Break asked with a wide, contented smile.

            Reality dawned on Liam like a slow wave. He looked between Oz and Raven, then his attention snapped back to Break. “No,” he said flat-out. “No, not a goddamn chance.”

            “Oh, Liam, if we’re going to impress Monte Carlo’s elite as a couple tomorrow night you’re going to have to be a little nicer to me than that,” Break said with a sweet smile. One of his hands rose and slipped out to touch Liam’s upper arm.

            “You’re not serious!” Liam protested. He turned to Oz and Raven. “You can’t be serious. _Look_ at me! You think I’d fit in a fucking evening gown?!”

            “Raven could make you fit in an evening gown,” Oz replied with a nod.

            Liam found no quarter as his eyes flicked to Raven, who shrugged. “I could make you fit in an evening gown,” he affirmed.

            “Our plan hinges on the ball,” Break pointed out. “If you want to help you’re going to have to be there. And if you’re going to be there you’re going to need a disguise. Our options are just a _little_ limited by the fact that we only have until tomorrow. The best way to make you unrecognizable is to turn you into a woman.”

Oz gave a large shrug and a sigh. “Break’s right...It’s this or stay home, Liam,” he said.

Liam’s mouth opened and closed a few times and he looked between Oz and Break. Neither one of their expressions shifted even a modicum. “Fine,” he said darkly, after a few seconds. “But if you even think of putting me in red I’ll shoot you both.” He flipped on the safety on the pistol he held and stuck it in his back pocket, then walked across the hotel room towards Raven. He looked down at him, an unreadable but amusing look on his face. “You tired?” he asked.

Raven blinked in surprise, completely caught off-guard by the question. “Y-yes...?” he said.

“Good.” Liam turned to Break. “We’ll talk about your no doubt idiotic plan in the morning. You and lop ear over there have the first watch.” He reached out and took Raven’s hand, tugging him to his feet.

“Watch?!” Oz blurted out. “What do you mean ‘watch’?!”

Liam smiled at Raven. “You don’t mind if I sleep on the couch in your room, do you?”

Raven couldn’t help another, wider smile. “Certainly not,” he said with a nod.

“I mean ‘watch’. This is a _serious_ operation now,” Liam said as he began to follow Raven across the room towards one of the bedrooms. “Consider it bonding time. You hens can gab about what kinds of dresses you wish _you_ could wear to the ball tomorrow night,” he drawled.

Break looked between Liam and Oz. “Wait, I don’t want to be on watch with-“

“Goodnight!” Liam shouted as he reached the doorway to Raven’s room and slammed it shut behind them. He took a heavy breath, his hand falling from the handle as he turned to Raven. “Jesus Christ...do you _believe_ those assholes?” he asked, suddenly light-hearted, his voice warm and honeyed beneath his accent.

The shift in demeanor from commanding to friendly made Raven smile. “No,” he said with a little laugh, crossing the room and taking a seat on the edge of the large double bed that occupied one whole wall. “If it makes you feel any better that was the first time they’ve agreed on anything since they met.”

Liam laughed. “Hardly surprising. According to our boss at MI6 a saint could find a reason to disagree with Xerxes Break,” he said.

Raven nodded and gave a small chuckle. “He certainly is a character,” he agreed.

Liam took another few steps into the room and looked around. “So...this is how the other half lives...” he said.

“A little nicer than staff’s quarters?” Raven asked. Liam drew a little closer throughout his perusal of the room and nervousness piqued in Raven’s blood. He drew a knife and laid it on his knee in plain sight, just in case.

Liam stopped at the sight of the weapon. He blinked and looked Raven up and down. “Oh...” he said softly. He visibly hesitated then reached behind him and grabbed the pistol out of his pocket. He clicked the switch to free the magazine and tossed it to Raven. “There...I’m a friend...remember?”

The half-full magazine bounced softly as it hit the bed beside Raven. He relaxed slightly, and even found his grip on his knife loosening as Liam made his way around the room to the couch against one of the large windows.

Silence hung between them, full of anticipation and hesitation in equal parts. Raven kicked off his shoes and pulled himself up into bed, resting against the headboard with his knees loosely pulled into his chest. “Thank you...” he murmured after a few indistinct, silent minutes had passed. “For not telling Oz or Break you recognized me.”

Liam looked up from the spot on the floor where his gaze had fallen and met Raven’s eyes. “Of course,” he replied.

Raven smiled. “I...had no idea you have an accent...” he said.

“Undercover,” Liam replied with a nod and a fragile smile. “You know how it goes.”

They looked away from each other then, Liam’s eyes drifting back to the floor and Raven’s finding a spot on the wall on which to focus. _Come on, Raven,_ think _! Keep the conversation going...You haven’t talked to someone like this in a long time._ “What...part of Ireland are you from?” His eyes shot up towards Liam. “It is Irish, right? Not Scottish? You sound more musical than the Scots I’ve met.” A blush colored his cheeks and he looked away again. “Sorry, that was weird...” he mumbled.

Liam looked up from the carpet and smiled at Raven. “Cork,” he replied. “I’m from Cork...And you? Oz said Russia...”

A surge of happiness at Liam’s willingness to keep talking fluttered through Raven’s stomach and he forced himself to look at Liam as he spoke again. “Yeah. A village called Alat about 12 hours from Moscow” he replied.

Liam smiled. “But you’re not hiding a secret accent too?” he asked lightly.

Raven shook his head. “We all speak English in the Vessalius house. It’s Oz and Mr. Vessalius’ first language, and every member of the household is meant to speak it perfectly. Besides, I haven’t been to Russia in a long time...I don’t even think I could speak the language anymore,” he said heavily.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve not been home in a long time either,” Liam responded quietly.

Another minute of silence hung between them, both lost on opposite shores of the ocean it created, wandering in their own thoughts. It was a companionate, sympathetic silence, and yet somehow in its midst Raven felt like the loneliest man in the world.

He finally spoke up after a few minutes, driven by the aching longing for companionship still radiating through him. “MI6 is a British organization, not Irish...How did you end up there?” He caught himself. “I-If you don’t mind my asking...”

Liam’s smile grew fonder. “You’re shyer than I took you for out there...” he said with a note of laughter in his voice.

“Yeah...” Raven said, trying without success to stop his blush from deepening. “I’m not great with strangers...sorry...”

Liam shook his head. “Don’t be...I joined MI6 when I was 11. Cheryl, its founder, tracked me down in Cork and conscripted me into training.”

Raven frowned. “That’s very young to become a soldier. Your parents must have been worried...” he said softly.

“I’m...” Liam took a heavy breath. “I’m an orphan. When Cheryl found me I was half starved to death from living on the streets. She offered me shelter, room and board and training, in return for my skills. Trained me alongside her own granddaughter, Sharon. By the time Sharon and I were 15 we’d already earned the ranks of 001 and 002. The rest...” Liam gestures around the room, “is history, I guess. I’ve been here since I was 17, trying to get close to Zai.”

“And making the best damn vodka tonics I’ve ever had,” Raven said, trying to lighten the mood slightly with the statement. He nodded, considering Liam’s story. “That sounds like a hard life.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry Break blew your cover. It seems like you...worked hard...to develop it.”

Their eyes connected and the air between them filled with heavy secrecy. The ocean of their silence roiled with a storm or the awakening of some great monster from its depths.

“I did,” Liam said.

Raven looked away.

Liam took a deep breath. “Whatever moronic scheme Oz and Madd-I mean, Break, have cooked up better be good...When Zai finds out I’ve been betraying him, he’s _going_ to kill me,” he said quietly.

“I’ll protect you,” Raven said instantly. The words tumbled from his mouth almost outside of his control and his jaw dropped open as he finished, like he could gather the rash sentence back up if he tried hard enough.

Liam blinked in surprise, then gave Raven a sincere smile. “I’ll protect you, too,” he replied.

“Thank you,” Raven breathed. He smiled warmly down at his hands folded in his lap. “It’s been a long time since I had a friend,” he said. Alarm bells slammed to life in his head and he bolted upright. “I’m sorry, that was stupid, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s been a long time since I had a friend, too,” Liam replied, cutting off Raven’s outburst with calmness.

Raven’s heart stirred with unfamiliar warmth as Liam nodded to the door. “You have a jerk to deal with and I have a jerk to deal with...Sounds like we could both use someone to talk to.”

Raven nodded eagerly. “You’re right!” he agreed. _A friend...”Sweetheart” and a friend..._ Oz’s words echoed back to Raven through his head. _Things can change..._ He smiled. _Things will change._ He allowed himself a laugh.

Liam laughed along with him and they both smiled. Raven opened his mouth to speak, nearly stopped himself, then pressed on anyway. “Seems like you like your jerk, though...”

Liam’s jaw dropped and he leaned back on the couch, his posture easing out of military tightness. “Jesus Christ, not even my friend for five minutes and you’re teasing me? You sure you’re not Irish?” he asked.    

“I’m sure,” Raven said with a smile. A moment of daring came over him and he pressed on. “But don’t change the subject...If you left Oz and Break out there to gossip, we might as well gossip too, right?” he asked, trying to hide the desperation in his voice.

Liam heard it anyway and spoke again. “Might as well...But unfortunately for you you’re wrong. I can’t _stand_ that little piece of shit!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air, passion and excitement returning to his demeanor.

Raven, caught up in the moment, uncurled from his position on the bed and turned onto his stomach, rolling his eyes at Liam. “Don’t even try that. A blind man could see the sparks flying between the two of you,” he teased.

Liam rolled his eyes. “Oh _please_. If there’s sparks it’s because I want to light him on fucking fire,” he replied.

Raven laughed more heartily than he had yet and rested his head on his folded arms on the bed. “All I’m saying, Liam, is that now your cover’s blown...Once Zai’s dead, there’s nothing tying you to this place. You can do anything you want to...Take the chance, now that you’re free. You know?” he said with a small smile.

Liam nodded slowly, pondering, then gave a little laugh. “I suppose you’re right. I can’t go back to MI6 now. Cheryl would absolutely murder me. And after making a deal with Jackrabbit I don’t think she’d treat Break any more kindly...” He paused and looked around the room. “And I guess it will be good to get out of this place...I’ve been here so long I’ve almost forgotten what things are like outside,” he said.

Raven nodded. “I know the feeling...But the way I see it you’re free now. And you never know how long that will last. So...make the most of it while you can,” he said.

Liam smiled. “You’re exactly right.” He paused. “After this whole mess is over with Zai...I hope we see each other again,” he said with a nod.

Raven’s heart warmed and he allowed himself to relax further, shutting his eyes and letting out a deep sigh. “So do I...I’d love to see how freedom treats you,” he said.

“Us,” Liam replied. “How freedom treats _us_.”

Raven’s eyes opened and he blinked at Liam. “Me...?” he hesitated.

Liam nodded. “You. Once Zai’s dead you’ll be free to do whatever the hell you want.” He smiled. “ _With_ whoever the hell you want. Oh come on, don’t look at me like that. It’s not hard to see the sparks between you and Oz, either. Once this is over you can see more of the world, run a company, chase the man of your dreams...maybe even get that Russian accent back. Sounds pretty nice, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“I...” Raven hesitated.

“You’ve got wings tattooed on your back, don’t you? It’s time you _really_ learned to fly,” Liam said.

Touched tears brimmed in Raven’s eyes and he breathed a wet laugh. “We haven’t even been friends for an hour and you’re already making a world I’ve wanted for years seem like a real possibility.” He swallowed. “Thank you.”

Liam smiled. “It’s the accent. Makes anything seem like wisdom.” He breathed a long sigh. “Well...tomorrow’s the day, and we’ll be switching out watches with the idiot brigade in a few hours...We should get some sleep,” he said as he stretched out on the couch, curling his long legs in and kicking off his shoes onto the floor.

“Alright.” Raven sat up in bed and pulled the blankets back. He hesitated, looking up at Liam on the couch. He took two pillows in hand and tossed them across the floor towards him, then pulled the comforter off the bed and added it to the pile. “You might get cold,” he explained with a smile, pulling himself into bed and switching off the overhead lights.

Liam smiled gratefully and pulled the blanket over himself. “Thank you,” he replied.

Raven switched off the last lamp and pulled himself down into bed, burrowing among the covers and pillows. He shut his eyes and swallowed, trying his best to still a sense of dread and foreboding that he’d been stifling since they arrived in Monte Carlo.

The sound of whispered words drifted across the new quiet in the room. Raven focused hard, trying to hear what Liam was saying.

“...hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven...”

Raven swallowed and let out a long breath. _The Lord’s prayer..._ He listened a minute longer, trying to allow the conviction and strength of the words flow into him. _It’s going to be fine...Liam and Break will kill him...It’s a good plan...We’re going to make it. It’s going to work. It’s almost over._ Oz’s words woke once more in Raven’s head. _You, Raven...You make me happy...Once my father’s dead we won’t have to hide anymore. Things can change. We can change._    

“Amen,” Liam whispered.

Raven swallowed another wave of nauseous fear. “Amen,” he echoed.

           

 

           

           

           

           

                                     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there it is. All the pieces are in place! Next chapter is where this whole thing comes to a head, so be ready for action, backstory reveals, and a whole lot of feelings!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like I mentioned in the last chapter this is where a few of the tags that haven't really been touched yet come into play. There IS NO GRAPHIC CONTENT, however trigger warnings apply for references to child abuse and sexual abuse.

            Liam, Oz, and Raven sat around the coffee table, a map of the casino spread out between them, their heads all bent low in concentration. “So let me get this straight...Break will speak to your father at the ball and when he approaches him for the money you’re going to slip a remote device onto him, which will activate a lethal poison when you tell it to? _That’s_ your master plan? Then I hope you’re ready to kiss your ambitions goodbye, Oz. He’ll feel it,” he said bluntly.

            “He won’t,” Oz protested. He leaned over and picked up a tiny object, about the size and shape of a quarter, which sat on a corner of the map. “It’s only this big. And I know what I’m doing.”

            “Oh, do you?” Liam stood and gestured for Oz to do the same. He took him by the shoulders and led him to stand near the end of the coffee table. He turned around and put his hands on his hips. “Slip that into my pocket,” he commanded.

            “That’s not fair, you’re expecting it,” Oz said.

            “Your father will be, too. If your fingers are as light as you claim it shouldn’t be a problem, right?” he challenged.

            Oz hesitated a moment then stepped forward and did as Liam asked, sliding the device lightly into his pocket.

            Liam laughed. “Wow. You need my help more than I thought,” he said, turning around to face Oz and pulling the device from his back pocket.

            Oz bristled. “It wasn’t that bad.”

            Liam brushed past Oz on his way to his seat and huffed out a loud breath as he sat. “It was that bad,” he said.

            “Well I’d like to see you do better!” Oz huffed.

            “Check your back left pocket,” Liam replied nonchalantly.

            Oz’s hand flew to the back pocket of the khakis he wore. “My phone’s gone.” He blinked in surprise and pulled the tiny device from the pocket Liam had mentioned. “And...”

            Liam lifted his left hand from his lap and waved Oz’s phone at him. Oz and Raven both gaped in shock as Liam tossed the phone back to Oz.

            “How the hell did you do that?” Raven asked in surprise.

            “Practice,” Liam said. “A life of pickpocketing followed by five years as a poker dealer gives a person light fingers.”

            “Wow...” Oz said, gears in his head visibly turning as he considered the object in his hand. He looked up at Liam. “Can you do that with anything?”

            “Just about,” Liam said.

            “Hold on one second...” Oz turned and bolted from the room, returning a second later with his briefcase. He sat and set it in his lap, beginning to work with the various combination locks on its outer surface. “I’ve been working on modifying tracking technology so I can keep track of my suppliers and dealers from external locations.” He opened the briefcase and reached into a small pocket, from which he removed a series of gold pendants barely the size of his pinky nail, all in the shape of the broadly smiling rabbit that was Jackrabbit’s insignia. “These are GPS sensors accurate to within 2 feet anywhere on earth. You and Break could slip them onto people you think might be my father’s guards at the party, that way if anything goes wrong we’ll have their GPS coordinates to orchestrate a rescue.”

            Liam nodded slowly. “Much as I hate to say it, lop ear, that’s a decent idea,” he agreed. “Break and I have already discussed pretty much every scenario that could result in failure. Having tech like this on our side will only help.” He paused, furrowing his brow. “When he gets back we’ll go over them with the two of you.” He raised a finger at Oz. “Don’t you do anything stupid. You look like the type to do something rash and stupid,” he said bluntly.

            “What?!” Oz protested. “I do _not_!” He looked at Raven. “Back me up, here!”

            Raven met Oz’s eyes evenly. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said seriously. “There’s a lot on the line, Oz.”

            The serious tone in Raven’s voice made Oz pause. He nodded. “Okay...I won’t.”

            The door beeped as a key was inserted into it. The three around the table looked up as Break entered, a garment bag in one hand over his shoulder. “Afternoon, gentlemen,” he said with a smile.

            All eyes in the room instantly shot to the garment bag he held. Sensing the shift in attention Break shut the door behind him and came to a stop.

            “Anyone want to see what Lady Liam will be wearing tonight?” he asked, still smiling.

            “Yes!” Oz all but shouted.

            Raven’s eyes flicked over to Liam, whose face had grown grey and grim. He chuckled.

            Break flipped the garment bag around and unzipped it then reached inside and set the evening gown he’d purchased flowing towards the ground. Everyone’s jaws dropped, Liam’s included.

            “Seriously?” Liam asked.

            “Seriously,” Break said with a smile. “If you’re going to be a woman you might as well be the woman of my dreams, right?”

            Liam groaned and smacked himself on the forehead as Oz began to laugh.

            Raven winced. “At least the skirt’s only slit on the one side, right? So you can carry a pistol in a thigh holster?” he hazarded, still watching Liam’s face.

            “That was the idea,” Break said with a nod. He gave Liam a wink. “Couldn’t resist.”

            Liam’s cheeks colored slightly and he looked away as Break began to put the dress back into the bag.

            “Do you have a name?” Break asked. “For a female alias, I mean. I can’t exactly call you ‘Lady Liam’ all day, can I?”

            “March,” Liam mumbled grudgingly.

            Raven gave Liam a smile and an encouraging thumbs-up. “I think that’s nice! It suits you,” he said.

            “It does,” Break agreed. “Something about your eyes...”

            “Oh don’t start with that nonsense about my eyes again, Break,” Liam hissed. “Now come here. We were just discussing changes to your plan.”

            “Changes?” Break asked. He hung the garment bag over the back of one of the chairs in the kitchenette and crossed the room to sit beside Liam on the sofa. “What changes?”

            “Necessary changes,” Liam replied. “Namely that I’ll be the one putting the device on Zai.”

            “Why you?” Break asked. “Getting you close with Zai’s guards around will be tricky. There’s a chance he’ll recognize you.”

            Liam held up a hand with a switchblade from Break’s back pocket in it. “That’s why me.”

            Break’s hand flew instantly to his pocket and a slow smile bloomed on his face. “Wow...” He raised an eyebrow. “That explains so much from the other night,” he added.

            Liam handed the blade back to Break and waved a hand. “Shut up about the other night. We’re busy. You’re going to have to find a way to get me close to Zai. Because not only do I have the lightest fingers of us, I’m undoubtedly the best shot,” he said. “And if shit _does_ hit the fan you’ll want me nearby to make sure we all make it out at least mostly alive.”

            Break considered for a moment in silence then gave a nod. “Alright. That seems safer,” he said.

            “You’re not going to argue with that?” Oz asked in surprise.

            Break pointed at Liam and leaned around him to speak to Oz. “I don’t think you understand _exactly_ who this is. MI6 is widely considered to be the most lethal organization on earth. And Liam is its _most lethal agent_. No. I’m not going to argue when he says he’s a better shot than I am,” he said.

            Oz gave them both a sticky, sweet smile. “Well look at you two falling in love,” he drawled.

            Raven hurried to talk over Liam’s immediate protest and Break’s burst of laughter. “ _Anyway_...Liam’s going to slip the device onto Oz’s father instead...that’s fine. Like Break said, it’ll be safer to have him closer. Break, apparently all you’ll have to do is keep him something _close_ to distracted for as long as it takes for Liam to get close to him. And Oz isn’t going to do anything _stupid_ ,” Raven repeated.

            Liam nodded. “And _you_ are going to stay as far away from this as you believably can...If we’re going to need to hack our way out of this through the staff halls your skills will be a huge asset in tight spaces. If things do go wrong having you injured will decrease the likelihood of us even potentially getting out by a lot,” he said.

            Raven gave him an almost relieved smile. “Alright. I’ll do what I can,” he promised.

            They all considered each other for a few silent moments, tension and anticipation and caution radiating through the air. Oz blinked at Liam, considering him. “What are you going to do when this is over? I’ve already promised Break he can keep whatever money my father gives him, and he has access to my yacht or plane, and whatever else he needs to get out of the country.”

            Liam’s eyes shot to Raven, who smiled at him and glanced at Break.

            “I should go back...” Liam hesitated, his mouth opening and closing a few times. “I...I should...”

            His eyes drifted around the room, alighting on the furniture, the windowsills, the map on the table in front of him. Finally they lifted and his head turned towards Break. “But...maybe I won’t...Where...Where are _you_ going?” he asked quietly.

            Break smiled, half-unexpected butterflies awakening in his stomach. “We’ll see, I guess...” he replied, his voice a bare breath, full of the possibility of adventure.

            Raven smiled at them. “Well...look at you two falling in love,” he said in a tender, happy echo of Oz’s earlier teasing.

            Break’s cheeks colored softly pink and Liam rolled his eyes, but neither made any further attempts at protest.

            The bells in the tower of the church near the Casino Royale’s borders began to chime, tolling five times out into the twilight.

            “Well...this is it,” Break said.

            “This is it,” Raven agreed, a breath of intense nervousness in his voice. He looked up at Liam. “We should start getting you ready,” he said. A chuckle followed the statement as he and Liam stood. “Those eyebrows of yours look like they’re going to take at least an hour to coax into normalcy,” he teased.

            Liam narrowed his eyes. “Don’t push your luck, featherhead,” he said.

            Raven laughed. “ _Featherhead_?!” he asked as he gathered up the garment bag and started towards his bedroom.

            “You’re named for a bird and your hair looks like feathers,” Liam said with a nod. “Featherhead.”

            Break smirked after Liam, watching the slight sway of his narrow hips as he retreated. “Good luck,” he chimed.

            Liam whipped around over his shoulder and pinned Break beneath a cold, hazel glare. “Dress to impress, Break, or you’ll find me on someone else’s arm before the night’s out,” he challenged.

            Break blew a kiss at Liam and gave him a wave. “The feeling’s mutual, lady March,” he replied.

            “Same goes for you,” Raven chided, his gaze fixed on Oz. “I swear to _God_ if I come out here and you’re wearing something ridiculous like green pants I’ll kill you,” he said flatly.

            Oz laughed. “I get it, Raven. Dress to impress.”

            With a final joking sneer at Break Liam turned sharply on his heel and followed Raven’s lead back into their bedroom.

            As soon as they were left alone, Break’s eyes snapped hard to Oz. “So. Another 6 hours and this whole thing will be behind us...You sure you still want to go through with killing your own father?” he asked. “It’s your last chance to back out.”

            Oz blinked slowly at Break, pinning him beneath an emerald stare. “I’m not backing out,” he replied. “He’s fucked with my life for long enough.” He considers Break, a new depth and perceptiveness coming into his eyes. “When we met in Haiti you were already bent on taking him out...You still haven’t told me why.”

            Break’s hand rose subconsciously and brushed against the chain of the locket beneath his shirt. “Fine. You and I probably won’t be seeing each other again after this, so what does it matter?” He swallows. “I had an older sister. Natalia Break, agent 003, one of the finest to ever go through MI6. Four years ago she was on a routine mission to analyze the threat of a secret bomb factory in Zagreb. A factory owned by your father.” His eyes cloud with grief and anger. “She didn’t come back. She should have, but she didn’t. And it wasn’t a good death, either. She was strangled and dismembered. Most of her body was thrown into the factory’s incinerator. But her right hand was returned to Sharon, our director, with a symbol carved into it.” Break lowered one hand and picked up the pencil lying beside the map on the table. He scratched the symbol onto the wood, the shiny, silver lines standing out against its surface. It’s an oval with another circle inside, like an eye without a pupil. A few lines radiate from the eye’s upper lid, like the rays of a sinister sun. A crescent moon fills the space where the eye’s pupil should be. Break set the pencil down. “That symbol. And there’s no intel on it anywhere. Well. Almost anywhere.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook, which he flipped open and rifled through until he found what he was looking for. He set the book down, open to a photograph. It’s a shot from a security camera, which shows Zai Vessalius seated at a blackjack table in the recognizably ornate main room of the Casino Royale. He’s sliding something across the table to the dealer, whose face is out of sight. It’s a playing card, the back of which is emblazoned with the same symbol drawn on the table. “My sister was the only family I had. And she was killed on your father’s orders. I’ll see him dead if it kills me,” Break finished stonily.

            Oz sat in silence for a few seconds, then gave an appreciative, acknowledging nod. “Revenge.” He raised his eyebrows. “I guess we do have something in common.”

            Break raised an eyebrow. “Do I get to hear _your_ tragic backstory now?” he asked.

            Oz laughed. “My mother died when I was five years old, so I moved from California, where I was born, to my family’s estate in Belgium. My father ignored me for four years, leaving me to essentially be raised by my nurse, his personal chef, and the captain of his guards. And by Raven, my best and only friend. We both hated it there, so I decided we’d run away from home when I was nine and Raven was sixteen. I did it by hacking into my father’s personal server and rearranging guard schedules to create an opening where no one was on duty and I could get off the property without being noticed. Since then we’ve been travelling together, developing the tech branch of the Vessalius Corporation, taking over the international drug trade, and religiously avoiding my father.”

            Break hummed thoughtfully. “Secrets, secrets, Oz...You said you’re after your father for revenge. But it doesn't sound like you’ve even spoken to him enough in your lifetime to give him the opportunity to offend you.”

            Oz’s face grew hard and his shoulders tensed. “...The first time I tried to escape my father’s house I was seven and Raven fifteen. There’s about a hundred acres of hunting land out behind the house. I convinced him to sneak off into it with me, so we could leave. Oscar, the chef, created a diversion at the house to give us the chance to do it. But we were caught. A few weeks later Oscar disappeared. It could have been a coincidence...but about a month after Raven and I got out for real Oswald, my father’s bodyguard, the man who taught Raven to fight, died too. None of that symbol bullshit, but Zai killed them. I _know_ he did,” he said.

            Break nodded slowly. “I see...” He smiled cunningly. “Secrets, secrets, are no fun,” he half-sang. “You’re seventeen now. Eight years is a long time to wait for revenge, especially with a man like Raven at your side...You’re hiding something,” he said.

            Oz’s eyes narrowed and a flicker of anger slipped into his expression. “Stop asking questions,” he demanded, his voice cold and uncompromising. He stood and turned away from Break, picking up a tie he’d left on the couch where he’d been sitting and beginning to pull it through his hands, his knuckles white with the tightness of his grip.

            Break considered the firm set to Oz’s shoulders, the tenseness of his grip, the unevenness of his breathing. “It’s not about revenge for you, is it?” he asked.

            Oz’s hands froze and he took a deep, audibly tense breath. “I told you to stop asking questions, Break,” he said quietly.

            Break opened his mouth to ask something else, to push Oz a little further towards rage. But an awareness of the fact that their plan would be unfolding in just a few hours and that a large portion of its success hinged on Oz remaining level-headed throughout the evening kept him quiet.

            Another minute of crushingly tense silence passed between the two men before Oz released the tie he was pulling at and let out a breath. He walked across the room towards the door to the suite’s large private pool deck, pulling off his shirt and stepping out of his shoes as he went. The sun blazed against his tanned skin as he walked across the luminescent tile. Oz didn’t even hesitate before he raised his hands above his head and launched himself in a graceful dive into the crystal blue water. A splash barely radiated up behind him as he cut through the water and out of sight.

            Break watched Oz until he swam out of sight, then his eyes fell slowly to the symbol drawn on the table. He picked up the pencil again, flipped it over, and erased it in a few quick, purposeful strokes. “Secrets, secrets, hurt someone,” he murmured.

 

* * *

 

            Every light in the suite was on, the ivory and marble sparkling like jewels in a tiara, the furniture lounging beneath the friendly gold illumination like a corps of aged ballerinas. The clock in the nearby church struck ten as Break emerged from his room, straightening the lapels of his jacket. A floor-length mirror across the room caught his eye and he gave his reflection a cool smile. The black pinstriped suit he wore was perfectly tailored to fit his trim shoulders, and the rich violet silk lining of his jacket matched the color of his tie to a T. Both worked wonders with the cherry and garnet sparkling in his eyes, which were free to radiate like stained glass in his face with his hair pinned out of the way. He was as armed as he was elegant, two pistols hanging from a shoulder holster beneath his jacket and a folded switchblade in his breast pocket. He carried his cane and another short, leaf-bladed knife up his right sleeve. A few malleable razor blades had even been carefully sewn into the lining of his jacket, to aid in escaping captivity if it came down to it.

            He walked confidently across the suite’s main room to the kitchenette to pour himself some scotch from a glowing decanter. A second reflection snatched in his glass’s reflection as he lifted it and he turned, his hand dropping on instinct to one of the weapons on him. He caught sight of Oz and let out a surprised burst of laughter. The tall, thin young man wore a pair of deep maroon pants that clung to his legs, coupled with a dark navy blazer over a faded grey-blue dress shirt. A thin tie the same color as his jacket hung from his neck, complete with a thin, gold tiepin. A patterned maroon and blue paisley pocket square poked from the top of his jacket’s pocket, the colors and pattern of which matched the inside lining of his jacket. His pants were rolled at the cuff above fine brown suede shoes. The clothes’ colors combined with the bright blond of Oz’s hair, the healthy, tan glow of his skin, and the bold apple green of his eyes, leaving him positively sparkling, cruising easily along the line between high fashion and an exaggerated statement. Despite the clothes’ boldness Oz’s natural magnetism and the confidence radiating through him made him completely irreproachable.

Break studied him for a moment, then turned back to his drink. “Now, I’m no expert, Oz, but that _definitely_ looks like an outfit Raven might classify as ‘ridiculous’.”

            Oz stopped in his tracks and smirked at Break. “Thank you. The general idea of tonight is to be an embarrassment to my family’s name.”

            “Well you’re certainly on the right track,” Break said as he took another sip of his drink. “You’re the one that told me this place has one of the strictest dress codes on the planet...glad to see you have a witty comeback to that.” Break poured another glass of scotch and extended it to Oz.

            Raven breezed in from his bedroom as Oz took the first deep sip of his drink. He caught sight of him and came to an immediate halt. “Are you serious?” he asked bluntly.

            Oz smiled keenly and gave Raven a wink. “All you said was no _green_ pants.”

            Raven heaved a put-upon sigh. “It’s a good thing you own everything. Nobody would let you in anywhere otherwise,” he said with a loving roll of his eyes. He walked across the room to sit on the arm of the sofa, adjusting the cuff of the black tuxedo jacket he wore and twisting his sapphire cufflink so it caught the light more favorably. He was dressed as his alias of personal valet would customarily require, in a full black tuxedo with a smart white shirt and bow tie. A few sapphires sparkled at his wrists and the gold ear cuff he always wore had been polished to a reflective shine.

            Break cleared his throat, feigning nonchalance. “Is Liam almost ready?” he asked, trying not to sound too desperate.

            “Will you calm the _fuck_ down? I’m _working_ on it.” The bedroom door opened and Liam glided out into the main room, tall and effortless in the gown Break had chosen.

            Break’s jaw dropped instantly, and he heard Oz’s head thunk against the liquor cabinet as he fell back against him. He didn’t turn to laugh or reproach, though. Because every single iota of his focus was suddenly dedicated to the radiant creature Liam had become.

            Break had purposely chosen a revealing gown to tease Liam, but had never imagined the extent to which the cut and color of the dress would fit him. Its wide, scooped neck clung to the outside of Liam’s shoulders, baring his elegant collarbones and long neck while not dropping immodestly low. The bodice was formed entirely of leaf-green lace patterned like a tumble of roses. It was spackled with gold in places, the prevalence of that shimmering hue steadily increasing down Liam’s torso and around his back so that by the time the lace ended a few inches below his hips the whole thing was radiant with it. Where the front of the dress was borderline modest, the back was nearly nonexistent. Rich tumbles of gold floral lace above Liam’s hips and skating in a wide arc around his lower back was the only covering to speak of, leaving Liam’s spine and sleek, toned shoulder blades exposed. The gown’s satin skirt lulled in the same rich shade of dark green that swam up the lace on Liam’s body, its folds luminescent and weightless as water every time Liam moved, shifting in and out of a million colors between electric green and something approaching black. His left leg was left nearly entirely exposed by a slit in the skirt that came all the way up to where the lace began, just a few inches below his hips. When he stilled the tantalizing view vanished, but every movement proved a study in concealed eroticism, providing glimpses of the smooth, well-muscled skin of his leg.

            His short, chestnut-brown hair had been concealed beneath a wig of an almost identical color and with hair only slightly longer than Liam’s naturally was. The pixie cut was swept back into something like a glimpse of old Hollywood, a headband laced on one side with rich pink flowers cutting across Liam’s head, a few gold chains dangling down on one side to frame his face. Gold earrings to match glinted in his earlobes, and a gorgeous gold bracelet was clasped onto his left wrist. His eyes smoldered beneath smoky greyish gold eyeshadow and his lips stood out in deep pink. The glow foundation and blush had added to Liam’s skin could do little to conceal the freckles that smattered his cheeks, and the absence of a shirt to cover them revealed that the speckles of darker skin peppered Liam’s back, too.

            “Holy shit,” Oz said bluntly.

            Oz’s voice brought Break somewhere near reality again and he blinked a few times, forcing himself to attempt coherent thought. “Lady March...” he said, giving Liam a bow.

            Liam rolled his eyes and dropped into an elegant curtsy. “Maddon,” he replied, changing the timbre of his voice so it became a sultry alto. He glanced over and considered Oz. “Well aren’t you something?” he asked sarcastically. He turned back to Raven and drifted across the room towards him. “Sorry about that,” he said, reaching a graceful hand up to pat Raven’s shoulder.

            Raven laughed and rolled his eyes. “I’m used to it by now, believe me,” he replied.

            Liam spun on his toes and floated towards Break and Oz, both of whom were still staring at him dumbly. He reached the liquor cabinet and gave Break a glowing smile. “Won’t you pour your lady a drink?” he flirted, leaning into one hip as he said it so his leg peeked free of his skirt.

            Break looked up at him, utterly enamored and utterly silent.

            Liam sighed. “Fine.” He reached out and took Break’s drink from his hand, downing the remainder of the liquid within and then setting the cup down on the cabinet again. He turned once more and walked to the mirror, mildly adjusting the flowers in his hair and smoothing a few wrinkles in his skirt. “Are we going?” he asked.

            “Y-yeah...” Break stammered, pushing himself off the cabinet and snatching up his cane. He walked across the room, casting a mask of bravado and ease over his fluttering heart as he went. He offered Liam an arm as he approached. “Milady?” he asked.

            Liam blinked at Break almost demurely, raising his hand as though to accept his offer. Then he brushed past him, linking arms with Raven instead, tossing Break a smile over his shoulder. “I’ll be walking with someone a little more my size, for now,” he teased.

            Break’s jaw dropped and Oz let out a laugh. Raven smiled shyly but placed his hand atop Liam’s wrist anyway. “I’d be honored, lady March,” he said sweetly.

            Break and Oz both watched, stupefied, as Liam and Raven set off across the room towards the door. “Mr. Richardson, dear, you’re armed to the teeth, aren’t you?” Liam asked.

            “Of course, miss,” Raven replied, keeping up the bright, somewhat elevated speech he and Liam had begun speaking in. “I wouldn’t dare risk the safety of a lovely creature like you by being anything less.”

            They reached the door and Liam turned to glance back at Break and Oz. “I have those computer chips and I’ll be tagging every employee I don’t recognize as well as anyone who looks like they might be carrying a weapon,” he said, reaching into a fold of lace at his lower back and producing one of the hair-thin tracking devices.

            Break walked to the door after Liam and Raven, unable to stop his eyes from gliding up and down Liam’s body again as he does. “I’ll keep you close once we get downstairs,” he says.

            “My father’s a man of excess,” Oz adds as he joins the group by the door. “He won’t think it strange if you bring a gorgeous woman to this ball.”

            “And you’re not going to do anything stupid?” Liam reaffirmed.

            “No. I’m not going to do anything stupid,” Oz fired back.

            Break and Raven took a deep breath almost perfectly in tandem. Break looked around at the other three men beside him and smiled. “Well, I guess it’s off to the races then...” he said as he pulled the hotel room door open.

            The small group made their way down the hall in relative silence, each absorbed in his thoughts. The quiet ping of the private elevator car’s arrival was the only sound, and once the four of them had entered and hit the button to descend to the hotel’s main floor everything fell silent again.

            The descent was as silent as the walk down the hall, and Break continued to study his companions throughout it. He scanned Oz once more to make sure he wasn’t carrying any visible weapons, allowed himself another long look at Liam and a bare second to comprehend the warmth that stirred in his chest as he did, then focused on Raven. The broad-shouldered man’s shoulders were straight and his face set determinedly forward, perfectly unreadable. His perfectly tailored tuxedo and the sapphires glinting at his wrists bespoke his wealth and good taste. Even the artful curl of his loose hair seemed planned and perfect, not a loose ringlet out of place. His hands, however, were a different story. His right was clenched into a fist and his left trembled mildly at his side, its fingers loosely curled, his thumb dancing along the line of them repeatedly. Surprise and something akin to admiration piqued up in Break as Oz reached out and touched Raven’s fingers, taking his pinky loosely in his and running his index finger along the back of Raven’s hand. _If that man, Oswald, really taught Raven how to fight then he must want revenge as badly as Oz does..._

            The elevator reached the ground floor and Oz and Raven’s hands darted apart. Break refocused on the world outside the small car, which came blazing into focus as the doors slid open.

            If the Monte Carlo lobby had been resplendent before the grand ball had heightened it to the truly angelic. Every light in the place bloomed bright and gold, casting bold illumination, almost torchlight, down onto the marble floor and walls all around. Every door and window facing the beach or gardens had been flung wide open to allow the slight chill of the settled night to lilt into the space. Guests flitted effortlessly between the lobby, the bar, and the outer spaces, some bedecked in so many glittering jewels and fine silks that it seemed they were pieces of the night personified. Sophisticated men stood talking in groups, sharing scotch and brandy by the windows, or smoking cigarettes. For nearly every one of those spots of tailored black and glacial white there were two women radiating in colorful gowns awash with precious stones, ornate folds, and pricy fabrics. A slight twinge of satisfaction flickered through Break as he noticed several of them spotting Liam right away with something akin to envy in their eyes.

            “You’re the bell of the ball already, March,” Break commented as he led the little group away from the elevator and towards the fountain, where the crowd thinned a little.

            “You seem to be attracting a bit of notice yourself,” Liam replied, nodding almost imperceptibly to a cluster of guests nearby, all of whom were looking at Break and whispering. Break recognized two of the men as people he’d played poker with and a lady with them as someone he’d exchanged a few flirty glances with at the pool the day before. He smiled at the woman then leaned up and pulled Liam down into a kiss.

            “What the _hell_ are you doing?!” Liam said as he pulled away sharply.

            Break giggled. “Making a scene,” he replied with a wicked smile.

            Liam turned to Oz. “Damn you for ever telling him to do that,” he said. He looked down at Break. “So tell me, if I do go with you when this whole thing is over is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of the foreseeable future?” he asked.

            Break’s smile grew slightly warmer. “Something like that,” he said.

            Between them, their group represented not only the man who’d brought “making a scene” to a new level in the lobby, bar, and poker tables at the Casino Royale and the gorgeous, mysterious woman on his arm, but Oz Vessalius, the infamous media sensation and heir to the very building the ball was unfolding in, accompanied by Gilbert Richardson, his personal valet who’d come to be admired almost to the point of idolization by most of the young, eligible women Europe’s elite. Because of this it took only minutes for them to become the center of attention at the ball. Within half an hour members of the crowd began to drift towards them wherever they went, entreating Break for introductions, casting sidelong glances at Liam or Raven, and smiling somewhat nervously at Oz.

            Over time Liam and Break drifted away from Oz and Raven, circulating among the rich and famous in the room, Break flirting and chatting to their faces while Liam slipped the near-invisible computer chips into the pockets of passing servers and footmen. The tension of attraction between them only continued to grow as the evening wore on, and they found themselves not only engaging in conversation with the nobility and celebrities that filled the ballroom but also playing brilliantly off each other while doing it. Their conversation sparkled with wit and charm, and all who they engaged in conversation found themselves walking away having been moved to laughter and cheer. The longer they perused the party, the more people they charmed and computer chips they slipped onto potential assailants the less nervous the small group found themselves.

            When Break checked his watch and found it read 12:40 a flutter of excitement went through him. He leaned over to whisper in Liam’s ear. “Almost time, gorgeous...I’m going to get us some champagne,” he murmured.

            Liam turned and leaned down to graze their lips against one another’s as he replied. “Hurry back, Mad.”

            Heat stirred in Break’s blood and he smiled into Liam’s half-kiss. “I will...” he promised.

            He turned to skirt off towards the bar, casting a longing glance back at Liam and giving Raven, who was standing at a nearby window smoking his third cigarette of the night, a slow wink. Raven returned the gesture with a flit of a half-smile before returning to staring somewhat absently after Oz, who was across the room talking to a few young men with the look of new money about them. Break’s eyes lingered on them both a moment longer, then he turned once more to flit away to the bar.

            He ran nearly face-first into a passing server in a Monte Carlo uniform, who was dodging smoothly through the crowd. “Oh!” Break said in surprise, stepping back and looking up at the man to apologize. “Excuse me, I-“

            Any further words dissolved in a fog of surprise as Break looked into the man’s face and took in the abnormality before him. The man had long blond hair, which he wore loose and wild around his neck and shoulders. His face was long and thin, and he was possessed of delicate, almost elven features. Something about him was suggestive of mystery and dance, and he almost flowed, transient as water even when he was still. The striking picture his eyes made in his face only enhanced the aura of otherworldly chill about him. One burned gold as starfire, the other the molten red of magma.

            Seeming to notice Break’s interest the man gave him a quick, cutting smile and blinked. “Please, sir, the mistake was mine,” he said. His voice was as feathery as the rest of him, every word emerging as if he were on the cusp of song. He gave Break a shallow, deeply respectful bow and flitted off again without another word.

            Despite his unusual appearance the man vanished in almost no time at all, lost effortlessly among the thick crowd. Break was surprised to find his shoulders had tensed in the man’s presence, and as the blond stranger disappeared he let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. _What the hell was that about? Must just be nerves..._

            He procured champagne for he and Liam and made his way back to him, convincing himself he wasn’t searching for ruby and gold in every stranger’s eyes. By the time he reached Liam again some of his uneasiness had worn off and it was with a renewed sense of confidence that the two of them began to make their way towards the top of the grand staircase. Oz and Raven joined them on their way, Oz with a glass in one hand and Raven spinning a fourth unlit cigarette between his fingers.

            The nearby church’s clock struck one just as they reached the top of the crowded stairs, so perfectly it almost seemed cliché. Break found himself simultaneously smiling and taking stock of the weapons he carried, and he noticed the subtle hints that Liam and Raven were doing the same in small gestures, the swishing of skirts and straightening of lapels. Break’s heart pounded so loudly in his ears he was sure it would somehow be audible to Oz, with whom he struck up a forcibly light conversation to put on airs for when Zai arrived.

            1:00 ticked by, then 1:10, then 1:15, all without a sign of their target. Nervousness budded in Break again and he had to stop himself from reaching into his pocket to grab his switchblade to fiddle with several times. _Shit, something’s gone wrong...Something must have gone wrong. Zai figured us out. He got us. There’s someone waiting. We’re all going to die and he’s going to get away..._ he thought, fighting panic with a swallow and a deep breath.

            Oz and Break’s conversation had begun to devolve into desperation and Raven had put his fourth cigarette in his mouth to light when Zai finally made his entrance.

            It was impossible not to notice him. Power radiated off his broad shoulders like opium smoke. He filled the hotel’s lobby with ice and silence, demanding and receiving every speck of attention in the room simply by entering it. Wherever he walked he left a wake of profound, stunned silence behind him. Guests seemed stunned from their reverie or else frozen in it, watching Zai pass then turning to one another to whisper as he went. With every step Zai drew closer, cutting through the crowd with the ease of a viper, Break found himself once more stifling the urge to reach for his gun.

            It struck Break again as Zai drew nearer just how much like his son he truly was. Their hair, their eyes, and even a certain set to their shoulders were absolutely identical. But where Oz’s stride is usually carefree and his touch light, Zai moves with the force of a thunderstorm. Break could almost feel Oz tense beside him, his sunniness vanishing between a thinly veiled patina of calm over a surge of rage. Liam gave an intake of breath at the truly unavoidable resemblance between the snide, witty teenager they’d become acquainted with and the obviously ruthless man walking towards them.

            Break forced easiness into his posture and a small smile on to his face as Zai reached the foot of the stairs and began to ascend to them. The stony ruthlessness in Zai’s eyes increased in sharpness as he caught sight of Oz, then hardened further when he noticed Raven standing a few feet back.

            After a long, dramatic ascent, Zai finally stood at the top of the stairs beside Oz, with Break between them. He impaled his son in his uncompromising eyes and gave a disgusted click of his tongue. “You’ve made an even bigger fool of yourself than usual,” he growled. His eyes flicked to Raven, whose head dropped instantly. “And you. I thought you were supposed to protect him.”

            Raven offered no reply.

            Zai turned back to Oz with a scowl, then looked at Break. “I’ve got your money, and I came unguarded, just like you asked,” he said. “I’ll be taking Oz and Gilbert with me. And _you_ will be disappearing, if you know what’s good for you. I’ll be leaving now. So you can tell whatever agents you’ve got stationed around the room to stand down.”

            “No agents,” Break replied with a conceited shrug. “No need for them.”

            Break kept his eyes fixed pointedly on Zai’s as Liam began to slip around the side of the stairs, melding imperceptibly with the other members of the crowd. _Just 30 more seconds. Just keep him distracted for 30 more seconds until Liam can get around his other side..._

            Break searched momentarily for something to say, but Oz opened his mouth first. “So.” He took a step towards Zai, stepping between him and Break.

            Just as Liam skirted behind Zai to drop the small device into his pocket, Oz reached out and grabbed his father’s arm.

            Everything froze. Zai’s face contorted into a snarl.

            Break’s eyes shot involuntarily to Liam, who was already looking at him. “Oz...” he warned.

            “Shut up, Maddon.” Oz spat. He retained his hold on Zai’s arm. He looked his father dead in the eyes. “I have a question for you, _father_ , before we go,” he said.

            “Get your hands off me,” Zai retorted.

            “No.” Oz hissed. “Not until you answer me this. When I came to live at the Manor, Raven was already there. Already in your service.” He swallows, his free hand clenching hard into a fist at his side. “What... _exactly_...did he do for you?”

            Break jumped as Raven darted up behind him, reaching over his shoulder to pull Oz away. “Oz, stop. You shouldn't. Just leave it a-“

            Oz shrugged Raven’s hand off and turned over his shoulder to give Raven a cold stare. “Don’t,” he said. He whipped back around to face Zai, his grip on his father’s arm tightening. “Well?”

            Zai’s face remained unreadable for a moment. Then it dissolved into a hideous impression of a smile. He smacked Oz’s hand away and leaned in to growl right into his face. “I know _you’ve_ kept your hands clean of the sex slavery trade, Oz. But that doesn’t mean I have.”

            Break’s blood flooded with ice and nausea sprang up in his stomach. _Oh fuck...Oh my God...He can’t mean..._ Hideous images and imaginings slammed into him and he took a shocked step back.

            Zai gave a cruel chuckle, still focusing on Oz, on the growing wrath in his eyes. “Before Raven entered your service? He. Was. _Mine_.” Zai said lowly. He finally spared Raven a cold glance. “Weren’t you?”

            Break’s hand clenched into a fist around his cane as Raven’s eyes dropped to the floor. His shoulders began to quake and he swallowed. “Yes...” he whimpered.

            “Yes...?” Zai demanded.

            “Yes...sir...” Raven said even more quietly, his eyes locked on the ground.

            Hideous silence settled over the group. “He was _nine_ ,” Oz said, the rage in his eyes growing to an inferno. “When you kidnapped him and brought him to live at the Manor he was _nine years old!_ ” He released Zai’s arm and seized his shoulder, his other hand vanishing into his jacket pocket. “You’re a sick fuck.”

            Oz’s hand shot out of his pocket and before Liam, Break, or Raven could do anything to stop him he’d driven the knife he held deep into Zai’s stomach. He pulled his father close, looking up directly into his face.

            “And you can go rot in hell!”

           

 

           

           

 

 

 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, tags come into play here with references to underage and rape. There is nothing too graphic, but there are a few mildly graphic descriptions.
> 
> My deepest apologies to any readers who speak Russian anywhere near fluently. I am not among you, so I had to use Google translate. I sincerely apologize for butchering your language. 
> 
> Also! One of my ridiculously talented friends blessed the world with a drawing of Liam in his dress from the last chapter. Check out the link below to see it!
> 
> http://sixtinypinecones.tumblr.com/post/139284552106/no-party-is-complete-until-liam-is-in-a-backless

_Blood on sir’s shirt._

_There’s blood on sir’s shirt._

_...Is it mine?_

Someone grabbed Raven’s arm, called out to him, and began to drag him away. He looked around, eyes roving madly for something to focus on. A small, white hand around his wrist. Richly brocaded walls. Marble stairs.

Sir.

There’s blood on sir’s shirt.

He could barely compose himself to draw breath as a gunshot rang out through the air, followed by a cacophony of strangers’ screams. Raven winced, crying out alongside them. A swirl of emerald green caught his eye as a woman tore the skirt from her rich gown and pulled a pistol from a holster on her thigh. Something about the glasses she wore, the fire in her hazel eyes, and the armored strength of her shoulders as she fired three rounds into a crowd of advancing attackers was familiar but Raven couldn’t place it.

All he could see was the blood on sir’s shirt.

The hand on his arm grew more insistent and he found himself running on instinct though everything in his mind was crying out to stop, to panic, to scream. _Let me go! I want to go home! Please, I can’t see the mountains from here! Where are the animals? Where’s Mama?! Mama!_

Another gunshot. Raven’s world collected around the sound of it. He heaved a shuddering breath, full awareness suddenly slamming him in the chest. The hand on his wrist was MI6 Agent Xerxes Break’s. The woman now tearing away across the lobby of the Casino Royale de Monte Carlo was Liam Lunettes, another, stronger MI6 agent. The young man he was pulling after him as a crowd of gunmen began to swarm up the stairs towards them was Oz. And the middle-aged man on the stairs amid a brocaded chaos of party guests, whose hand scrabbled at his bleeding stomach, was Zai.

Sir.

Raven’s tongue was as heavy as lead in his mouth as he tried to speak, his eyes still locked on Zai. All he could see were wrathful green eyes. All he could feel were fingers yanking his hair and large hands prodding the soft, sensitive places on his body, all he could hear were panting, lusty grunts in his ear. His stomach heaved and reality was whitewashed once more by a sudden, violent flashback. The hand around his wrist tightened and began to drag and Raven’s mouth fell open in a silent, terrified scream.

 

_I want to go home!_

* * *

 

 

            _You know the words...You’re so smart; I know you remember them!_

Raven looked himself in the mirror, tugging at the strange, white nightshirt he’d been told to put on. The room behind him, one of only a few he’d seen in the two or three days he’d spent in the new, big house, was simply decorated with a large window-seat in a bay window that overlooked neat gardens below. The walls were a pretty eggshell blue and the double bed’s quilt had the look of something handmade. There was even a bookshelf, though it stood empty of all but a few volumes, and none in a language he could read. His attention returned to his reflection.

            _You can do it! Just two tiny words!_

            “Yes...sir,” he said slowly, the unfamiliar sounds rolling strangely as his natural Russian speech twisted them. He shook his head.

            “Yes...sir,” he repeated, this time a little more slowly, a little more properly.

            _See?! I told you you were smart!_

            He smiled at himself in the mirror as the voice in his head affirmed him once more.

            _Просто скажи это правильно, и они отпущу тебя домой ... Может быть, они отпущу тебя домой ..._ ( _Just say it right and they’ll let you go home...Maybe they’ll let you go home...)_

            Raven’s eyes filled suddenly with fat tears. He placed his hands on his own face in the mirror. “мама...” he whispered, allowing his accent into his speech once more. “мама...” He lowered his head.

            _Что произойдет , мама ? Кто будет кормить лошадь теперь, когда я уйду ? Кто будет ухаживать за маленькой девочки Карины , когда она готовит ? Кто будет смотреть на луну через мое окно в то время как она поднимается через сосны ... ? (What’s going to happen, Mama? Who’s going to feed the horse now that I’m gone? Who’s going to look after Karina’s little baby girl while she’s cooking? Who’s going to look at the moon through my window while it rises through the pine trees...?)_

            He sniffled and turned to look around the room. There was the moon, rising now through a new window. A window framed by slatted shades instead of rough wood shutters. Pine trees rose starkly in the distance at the edge of the seemingly endless expanse of manicured lawns and orchards that made up the Big House’s grounds, but they were nothing more than echoes. Nothing like the trees back home.

            “Ves...sali...us...” Raven said, the word unkind on his tongue. He shook his head.

            _Ves-sail-i-us...Like “vessel”. Like a ship...! Don’t you know what a ship is?_

Raven wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yes sir,” he said again. _Что ты говорил мне ? Могли бы мы были друзьями ? Вы пытались быть моим другом? Это то, что ... "_ Yes sir.” ... _означает_ ( _What were you saying to me? Could we have been friends? Were you trying to be my friend? Is that what..._ “Yes sir.”... _means?)_

He smiled softly at the moon, hope daring to flare momentarily in his chest.

_Я буду смотреть на луну через мое окно . Я возвращаюсь домой , мама . Я знаю, что я . Я собираюсь сказать ... "_ Yes sir. _" ... Правильный путь , а затем они собираются отпустить меня домой._ ( _I’m going to watch the moon through my window. I’m coming home, Mama. I know I am. I’m going to say..._ “Yes, sir.” ... _the right way and then they’re going to let me go home.)_

A knock sounded on the door of Raven’s chamber. He turned over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling and a hint of a determined smile on his face.

            “Time to go,” a harsh, gruff voice said.

            Raven blinked in confusion, his head tipping.

            The man at the door sighed and raised a hand, gesturing to the door. “Come _here_.”

            There was no mistaking the command in his tone. Raven jumped and skittered to the door. He looked up at the man, his courage wavering only slightly. “Yes, sir,” he said, doing his best to keep the final “r” from rolling too much.

            “Good boy,” the man replied, turning without further comment to lead the way down a long, dark hallway.

            “Yes, sir.” Raven whispered back.

 

* * *

 

            _I should have known we wouldn’t get out of this without you doing something stupid, motherfucker..._

            Break watched the knife enter Zai’s side almost in slow motion. Liam was leaping forward as it happened, his arms flying out to try and stop Oz. But it was already too late and they both knew it. All that remained was to get out of there.

            To get out of there _fast_.

            Zai stumbled back as the knife entered his side, Liam and Oz’s hands both on the hilt of the blade. He gave a surprised shout and one of his hands flew immediately to the entry wound, to the blade sticking out of it.

            Everything froze. A blinding moment of clarity settled over Break in which he could see over half of the employees in the lobby draw guns or knives. His eyes met Liam’s and something flared between them, a single thought so strongly communicated it was as though Liam had said it out loud.

            _Get Raven the fuck out of here before I take that pretentious cane of yours and shove it up your ass!_

            The first scream was a nearby woman’s. She found herself suddenly spattered in blood as Zai tore the knife from his side and sent it skittering across the stairs. A moment later all hell broke loose. Guests and undercover gunmen collided, shots rang out around the room, Break grabbed Raven’s wrist and began to drag him towards a hallway on the lobby’s upper level as Liam violently ripped the bottom from his long skirt, revealing a thigh holster.

            Guards had already surrounded Zai, but a surge of victorious excitement ran through Break as three of Liam’s bullets downed three approaching gunmen. Raven’s mouth fell open in some sort of pained, wordless whimper and Break squeezed his wrist, trying momentarily to rouse him from the trance-like state he seemed to have fallen into.

            Panic swept through Break as Liam grabbed Oz roughly by the collar and began to haul him in the opposite direction, towards a set of stairs leading further up into the hotel. Every armed man and woman in the place turned to follow them. _Shit. They won’t get away like that!_ Break released Raven’s arm and pulled one of his pistols from its holster. He aimed carefully and fired four shots. Two into the heads of gunmen pursuing Liam and Oz and two into the air, to attract attention and incite further panic.

            The plan worked exactly as desired. Someone shouted an order and at least half the gunmen wheeled to face Break. They were after he and Raven in less than a heartbeat. Break snatched Raven’s hand and turned on his heel, half-dragging and half-leading the larger, heavier man through a randomly selected hallway.

            “Mama...Mama...” Raven whimpered. “Yes sir...Vessel...Mama...”

            Raven’s voice was so distorted it hardly seemed his own. It was small and child-like, and his entire body shook so violently that his hand in Break’s threatened to slip free with every hurried step.

           “Raven!” Break said desperately as he dragged Raven around a corner and leaned back around to take a single shot, which slammed through a gunman’s shoulder.

            Raven offered no response.

            _Fuck!_ Break thought desperately. He looked around and spotted a swinging door nearby. He grabbed Raven’s arm once more and all but hauled him through it.

            They found themselves in a side kitchen with waiters and bartenders scrambling about. The second one of them caught sight of Break she screamed and tore towards the door on the kitchen’s opposite end. Panic followed Break and Raven like a sickness and soon the entirety of the kitchen had devolved into a mess of insanity and chaos, trays flipped and dishes crashing to the floor as the staff all struggled to flee as fast as they could.

            Break tugged Raven behind one of the kitchen’s massive islands just as the crowd of gunmen pursuing them made it into the kitchen. Shots were fired instantly, ricocheting over their heads and around the sides of the counter. Break raised his pistol and shot a man who slid around the side of the counter square in the jaw, eradicating his grip on a long, lethal-looking handgun and sending him careening into the nearby counter. Break chanced a daring reach beyond the counter, grabbing the fallen man’s gun and taking a shot at another guard who entered his sights on his way back into hiding. The bullet went wide, but it was enough to send the room into silence for a few seconds.

            It ended abruptly as another man approached from the other side of the counter, near Raven. Break took a shot and blew a hole clean through his hand, sending him screaming to the floor.

            “Raven!” Break said desperately, shaking Raven’s shoulder, trying through a haze of panic and disbelief and hatred to muster a soft tone of voice with which to rouse Raven.

            He failed. The other man remained curled completely in on himself, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, and his head lowered into the cavity his bent legs left.

            “Raven!” Break repeated desperately. “Raven, please! I need your help!”

            “Yes, sir...” Raven whimpered.

            Break’s stomach dropped. He had only half a second to consider the weight of the words before another assailant appeared and he whirled to take a shot.

 

* * *

 

            _Кровь на рубашке Сэра ._

_Там кровь на рубашке Сэра ._

_... Есть ли у меня?_

 

            ( _Blood on sir’s shirt._

_There’s blood on sir’s shirt._

_....Is it mine?)_

Raven sobbed, his tiny hands clutching desperately at the white fabric of the bedclothes, his face buried in the thick pillow beneath him, his entire body seizing with spasms of agony.

            He was cold. Cold and naked and the space between his legs ached. Ached with the agony of torn flesh and also with an oozing, unwelcome fullness that left him horrifically nauseous. Ignorance and understanding warred in him and he gave another racked sob.

            “Gilbert, get. Out. Don’t you understand me you stupid little thing?!”

            A large hand gripped his hair, tore him from what little shelter the pillow could offer, and brought him to his knees on the bed.

            It was Sir. His eyes broiled green, his blond hair was sweaty and messy, and his face flushed. He was still shirtless, a little blood smearing his lower stomach and one of his hands. Raven quaked in terror as he looked into that face. The face that had greeted him at the door, the face that had asked questions, the face that had contorted into a smile when Raven had said his words.

 

            _Do you like that?_

_Yes sir._

_Does that hurt?_

_Yes sir._

_Do you want more?_

_Yes sir._

_Yes sir._

_Yes sir._

_Just say it right and they’ll let you go home...Maybe they’ll let you go home..._

Raven sobbed again, reaching up to try and tug Sir’s hand from his hair. “Больно!” (“It hurts!”) he begged in Russian as fingernails tore little gouges in his scalp. “Стоп! Пожалуйста! Пожалуйста!” _(“Stop! Please! Please!”)_

            A palm cracked sharply across Raven’s face, hard enough that his cheek began to swell. “That’s not right. What do you say, Gilbert?” Sir demanded.

            “Пожалуйста ... Стоп...” (“Please...Stop...”) Raven said weakly.

            He didn’t brace himself in time to be prepared for the next blow. This one struck him in the stomach, making him double over. He screamed as he did, his torn and bleeding body protesting the movement, the stretch of his so recently decimated flesh. A thousand protests rose to mind, a thousand pleas in Russian. A thousand cries for help. A thousand wishes to be anywhere but here.

            “What. Do. You. Say. _Gilbert_?” Sir repeated, shaking Raven’s hair as he did.

            Raven sobbed again, curling in on himself. “Yes, sir...” he whimpered.

            Sir threw him away, tossing him onto the bed and staring disdainfully down at him. “Get out. You must understand _that_ at least. Get. OUT!”

            Raven looked up helplessly and saw Sir’s arm thrown out in a gesture, his bloody, groping, hurting hand pointing to the door.

            _В комнате с голубыми стенами . Я могу вернуться в комнату с синими стенами . Это не где сэр есть. Сэр здесь . Луна находится там._ ( _The room with the blue walls. I can go back to the room with the blue walls. That’s not where Sir is. Sir is here. The moon is there.)_

            Sick hope flared in Raven. He rolled off the bed and onto his feet, making to run towards the door despite his nakedness.

            His first step sent blinding bolts of tearing pain ricocheting through his whole body. He cried out and fell to his knees, then onto his stomach when the pain continued to surge through him. Another sob escaped him. _Убирайся отсюда . Убирайся отсюда ._ ( _Get out of here. Get out of here.)_ “Yes sir,” Raven wept, as though saying the words would make up for his failure. He pulled himself to his elbows and began to crawl towards the door. Another bolt of pain shot through him, setting him collapsing to his side in a tearful, bloody, trembling heap.

            “Get up!” Sir demanded.

            “Yes sir,” Raven whimpered, wrapping his thin arms around himself and sobbing again.

            “That’s not getting up,” Sir growled.

            Raven sobbed once more, in relief this time as the edges of his vision began to burn black. “Yes, sir,” he repeated.

            “ _GET OUT!”_ Sir roared, standing from the bed and whipping around to face Raven, raising an enraged fist as though to strike him.

            Raven shrieked in terror and curled further in on himself again despite his body’s protests.

            The sound of the door opening did nothing to stir Raven, nor did the sudden weight of a thick, wool blanket being dropped over him. He gasped, almost suffocating on the relief he felt at being covered and out of sight.

            “Get the _fuck_ out of here, Oswald,” Sir said lowly.

            “Mr. Vessalius, he can’t walk. Please...I’m sorry for disturbing you, sir, but I’ll carry him back to his room.”

Raven’s eyes shot wide open as the other voice responded. There was something familiar about it. About the roll of the syllables, the gruff cadence of speech, the sound of the word _sir_.

“Fine. Just get Gilbert out. Then return to your post,” Sir said.

“Understood, Mr. Vessalius,” the newcomer replied.

Raven gasped, every muscle in his body tightening as a pair of strong arms wrapped around him and lifted him from the floor. The blanket remained wrapped around him, covering every inch of skin. The world began to bob and rock as whoever was holding him began to move. The sound of a door closing was followed by another minute of steps, and then another door opened and closed.

The man holding Raven took another few steps then lowered himself to sit.

Raven’s eyes flew wide open again as the blanket was pulled off of his face. He sobbed weakly up into a set of dark, violet eyes set in a pale, angular face framed by longish black hair.

“Yes sir,” Raven whimpered.

The man closed his eyes, lowering his head and shaking it softly back and forth. “Нет,” he replied.

Raven froze _._ _Русский?! Он говорит по-русски !?_ ( _Russian?! He’s speaking Russian?!)_ “Sir...?” Raven repeated, hesitant and unwilling to be hit again.

“Я не сэр“ (“I’m not sir,”) the man replied. He hoisted Raven a little differently in his arms, taking weight off the injured part of his body and turning him slightly. Just enough that he could see the moon.

The sight of the silver orb hovering blind and half-full in the sky brought tears to Raven’s eyes again. His lip began to tremble as he looked up into the stranger’s face. “Луна...” (“Moon...”) he ventured in Russian.

“Луна,” (“Moon,”) the man replied in the same language, his voice accented slightly more harshly than Raven’s, his consonants harsher and his vowels softer.

Sudden, crushing depression overwhelmed Raven and he hurled himself forward into the man’s chest, wrapping his small arms around him as best he could. “Луна! Луна! Луна!” (“Moon! Moon! Moon!”) he sobbed again and again, hoping that somehow the Russian on his tongue could eradicate the unforeseen filthiness and agony of _yes sir_.

“Вы кровотечение ?” (“Are you bleeding?”) the stranger asked in a murmur after a few minutes.

“да...” Raven whimpered, still clinging to the man holding him.

The tall stranger rose, carrying Raven in his arms as easily as if he were an infant, and walked across the room towards another closed door.

Raven winced and sobbed harder, sudden paranoia and fear rising in him. _The last time I went out a door Sir was on the other side_. “No! Please, not to Sir! No!” ( _В последний раз, когда я вышел из двери Сэр был на другой стороне ._ " Нет! Пожалуйста , не сэр ! Нет! ")He switched desperately to English. “Yes, sir! Yes, sir! Yes, sir!”

The stranger didn’t stop, only raised one of his hands to open the door. Raven screwed his eyes shut in terror.

The sound of running water made him open them again. He found himself in a rich bathroom, right outside an ornate shower with a glass door. The man with the violet eyes extended a hand to test the water temperature. When he found it to be warm he stepped into the shower, still fully-clothed and with Raven in his arms. He sank to a sitting position and lowered the child delicately onto his side on the floor, shutting his eyes tight and then pulling the blanket from around him. Then he wrapped it over his own shoulders and face, completely obscuring himself from view, assuring Raven of his privacy.

The water tickling against his skin made Raven gasp. He remained curled on his side on the floor, his eyes half-open on tears and blood running from between his legs. “вода ...” (“Water...”) he murmured in quieter Russian.

“вода,” the stranger affirmed. “"Вы должны очистить свои раны , чтобы они не заражены . Белая бутылка на полу рядом с вами есть мыло . Это будет жалить , но вы могли бы заболеть , если вы этого не сделаете . Хорошо ? " (“You need to clean your injuries so they don’t get infected. The white bottle on the floor next to you has soap. It’ll sting, but you could get sick if you don’t. Alright?”)

“Yes si-“ Raven cut himself off. Indecision raged through him as he reached for the bottle of soap. He swallowed and amended his answer. “Да спасибо,”(“Yes...Thank you...”) His voice trailed away as he pulled himself along the floor, closer to the bottle. “Я ... Если ваше имя не сэр , то кто ты?” (“I...If your name’s not Sir...Who are you?”)

“Освальд Zoldonrovich,” (“Oswald Zoldonrovich,”) the man replied.

“Освальд,” Raven replied. The word fell effortlessly from his tongue.

“Как тебя зовут?” (“And...what’s your name?”) Oswald asked. “Я знаю, что это не так ... не Gilbert . Не то, что сэр назвал тебя ... Что твоя мама тебя называть?” (“I know it’s not...not Gilbert...not what Sir called you...What did your Mama call you?”)

“ворон,” Raven replied as he reached the bottle of soap and uncapped it. He turned it over, sending a cascade of slick, blue liquid into his hand. He blinked at it in surprise. _Мыло в домашних условиях не выглядеть следующим образом . (Soap at home doesn’t look like this...)_

“Raven,” Oswald replied. “That’s a good, strong name.”

They both fell silent as Raven reached behind himself and pressed the soap in his palm to the torn skin between his legs. He cried out and gave a weak sob as the soap burned away at the injuries. His entire spine shuddered in agony. " “Освальд ... Освальд ... что случилось ... со мной? Что сделал сэр ... Что он сделал со мной? " (“Oswald...Oswald...what happened...to me? What did Sir...What did he _do_ to me?”) Raven whimpered, scooting beneath the water once more to allow the soap and blood to be washed away.

“Он...” (“He”) Oswald’s voice trailed away, leaving heavy silence hanging between them. “Что было

Что было” (“That was...”)

Raven sobbed once more, shuddering beneath the water despite its warmth. He sniffled, more disturbed than anything by Oswald’s lack of a response. “Будет ли это случиться снова ?” (“Is it going to happen again?”) he asked weakly.

When Oswald spoke again his voice was quieter, weaker, more broken. “да ,” (“Yes...”) he replied.

Raven shuddered. “Нет,” (“No...”) he protested, shaking his head madly. “Нет, Нет, Нет!” A sudden idea struck him and he lifted his head, reaching out across the space between them to cling to the cuff of Oswald’s pants. “Вы ... Вы можете взять меня домой ! Ты говоришь по-русски! Это означает, что вы из России , не так ли ?! Правильно?! Вы знаете, где мама и куры , и правая луна ! Вы ... Вы можете ... забрать меня домой ... " (“You...You can take me home! You speak Russian! That means you’re from Russia, right?! _Right?!_ You know where Mama and the chickens and the _right_ moon are! You...You can...take me home...”) His voice trailed away as hope flickered and died in his chest. He knew before Oswald even spoke again that it was hopeless. That now the Big House, the Vessel house, _was_ home.

“Я не могу , Raven ... Мне очень жаль ... Я ... Я не могу ... " (“I can’t, Raven...I’m sorry...I...I can’t...”) Oswald replied.

Raven curled in on himself, too weak even to lift his head. " ... Делает ли сэр это вам тоже ? Это почему ? " (“...Does Sir do it to you, too? Is that why?”) he asked, his voice small and hurt.

            “Нет ... Нет, сэр не делает это мне ... “ (“No...No, Sir doesn’t do it to me...”) Oswald replied, his voice nearly as small as Raven’s.

            Raven sniffled again, giving a small mewl of pain as more blood washed away down the sink. " ... Освальд ... Что ... Что Gilbert ? Сэр ... он продолжал говорить " Gilbert " на меня ... А ты ... Ты сказал, что это тоже ... " (“...Oswald...What’s...What’s Gilbert? Sir...he kept saying ‘Gilbert’ at me...And you...You said it, too...”

            “Ворон ... Gilbert’s ... Это ... “ (“Raven...Gilbert’s...It’s...”) Oswald’s voice trailed away, tears distinguishable in it.

            Raven’s eyes fell closed and his shoulders slumped. “Gilbert’s , который « да, сэр » для ... не так ли ? Это ... меня . " Он дал еще один всхлип . " Я не собираюсь домой. Я не вернусь к моей луне или горы или кормления лошади ... " (“Gilbert’s who ‘yes sir’ is for...isn’t he? It’s...me.” He gave another sob. “I’m not going home. I’m not going back to my moon or the mountains or feeding the horse...”)

            “Мне очень жаль

Мне очень жаль” (“I’m so sorry,”) Oswald replied in a whisper.

            Deadness and sorrow washed over Raven and he swallowed a thick lump of nausea. “Вы собираетесь ... чтобы это сделать, тоже ? Что сэр сделал ? " (“Are you going to...to do it, too? What Sir did?”) he asked in a whimper.

            “Никогда,” (“Never,”) Oswald promised. Я никогда не буду делать то, что сэр сделал вам . Обещаю." (“I’m _never_ going to do what Sir did to you. I promise.”)

            Raven’s eyes fell closed. “Как вы поклясться на Луне?” (“Do you swear on the moon?”) he whispered.

            “Я клянусь на Луне,” (“I swear on the moon,”) Oswald replied, nodding though his head was out of sight, still hidden so Raven could be sure he remained unseen.

            "Освальд...?"(“Oswald...?”) Raven ventured after a few minutes of silence. The water had begun to go cold, his skin stinging and tingling where it touched him. He sniffled. "Я ... Я сонным ... " (“I’m...I’m sleepy...”) Panic flared in him and he squeezed his eyes shut. " Но я не хочу , чтобы вернуться в постель Сэра ! Пожалуйста!" (“But I don't want to go back to Sir’s bed! Please!”)

            " Тише ... Тише милая ... Raven Вам не придется спать в постели Сэра " (“Hush...Hush sweet little Raven...You don't have to sleep in Sir’s bed,”) Oswald assured. He unfolded from his curled position in the corner of the shower and made to stand. He left the shower without a glance at Raven, walking across the rich bathroom to fetch a large, fluffy towel. With it in his hands he closed his eyes and made his way back to Raven, extending the towel and averting his face.

            The shower having strengthened him a little, Raven pulled himself to his feet and limped towards Oswald and the towel in his outstretched arms. He sighed in relief as the warm, fluffy fabric encircled him and allowed himself a moment of relaxation as Oswald lifted him and carried him gingerly back into the main bedroom.

            Oswald set Raven down before a large dresser and opened several different drawers until he found what he was looking for. He pulled a pair of loose pajama bottoms from a drawer, and a long-sleeved shirt to match. " Вы можете поместить их на , если вы хотите , " (“You can put these on, if you want to,”) he offered, turning his back so Raven would have some privacy.

            The friendly gesture brought tears to Raven’s eyes and he snatched up the clothes from Oswald’s hand, pulling them on as quickly as his pained body would allow, wrapping the towel back around himself when he was done for extra protection from being seen. "Я ... Я закончил ... " (“I...I’m finished...”) he murmured.

            Oswald turned back around and picked Raven up, cradling him almost like an infant in his broad, strong arms, walking quickly but gently across the room.

            "Это твоя комната," (“This is your room,”) Oswald said as he set Raven down on one side of a double bed. "И посмотри..." (“And look...”) He pointed out the window to where a large silver disc hovered in the sky, casting a pale light on the Vessalius Manor’s grounds and carving through Raven’s window, leaving a trail of light like refuse on the floor and the wall above Raven’s head. "Там луна твоя . " (“There’s your moon.”)

            Tears welled instantly in Raven’s eyes. He swallowed, his lip quivering, then turned onto his side and curled against Oswald, his whole tiny form trembling. “My moon,” he whispered. " _Моя_ луна." (“ _My_ moon.”)

            Raven winced away as Oswald’s hand landed softly on his head. Oswald’s hand stilled, and in a few seconds Raven acclimated to the touch, tension easing out of his shoulders as Oswald began to stroke his hair. _Это первый хороший контакт у меня было так как Россия ..._ ( _This is the first nice touch I’ve had since Russia...)_ Raven realized. The thought sent a coarse wave of depression surging down upon him and he sniffled.

            "Освальд...?" (“Oswald...?”) Raven hazarded after a few more minutes.

            “Да, ворон ?” (“Yes, Raven?”) Oswald returned.

            “Спасибо.” (“...Thank you,”) Raven whispered.

            " За что , ребенок ? " (“For what, child?”) Oswald asked.

            "Ибо ... Ибо не быть ... как сэр ... " (“For...For not being...like Sir...”) Raven replied weakly, his voice thin and frail.

            Oswald’s hand continued working through Raven’s hair, coaxing out small knots in the loose black ringlets.

            Raven’s shoulders relaxed slowly as Oswald continued to touch his hair. Time grazed by like wind, and he couldn’t say how long it was that he watched the moon before his eyes fell shut, or how much longer after that the sound and shift of Oswald standing to leave the room made them fly open again. "Нет!" (“No!”) Raven protested instantly, rolling over despite his body’s protests to reach out to Oswald. “Нет... Нет, не идут(No...No, don’t go...”) he pleaded.

            Oswald paused in the middle of the floor. His form was looming against the dark, his pale face and dark eyes silhouetted boldly in the moonlight. But nothing of him radiated danger. He was sturdy as a mountain but safe as a tall pine. Seeing him turning to go almost brought Raven to tears on the spot. He blinked up at Oswald, his whole face desperate and weak.

"Пожалуйста..." (“Please...”) Raven continued. " Пожалуйста ... Ты мой ангел-хранитель ... Если вы здесь сэр не здесь ... Пожалуйста, оставайтесь ... " (“Please...You’re my guardian angel...If you’re here Sir’s not here...Please stay...”)

Oswald’s mouth fell open and he looked uncertainly between the door and Raven. "Я ... я должен ... " (“I...I have to...”) His eyes caught on the child’s tormented face and he sighed, stepping back towards the bed and removing the heavy wool cloak from around his shoulders. He draped it over Raven then lowered himself to the ground, sitting with his back against the bed and his elbows resting on his knees. “Alright, Raven. I’ll stay.” He raised a hand and found one of Raven’s already lowered. The child’s tiny fingers encircled his, and Oswald gripped him gently. His eyes fell closed. "Я останусь." (“I’ll stay.”)

 

* * *

 

“ _Stay!”_ Raven pleaded, his whole body shaking violently, his eyes locked on a distant point in space.

Break bolted up and took three more shots, cursing loudly as one of his guns jammed. He chucked it aside and snatched up his other, holding it at the ready for his next shot. “Raven! Raven come on!” he pleaded, shaking the larger man’s shoulders as best he could with one hand. “I’m running low on ammunition, I need you! Hey! Raven!”

“Don’t go...” Raven responded, nameless tears welling up in his eyes and falling from them.

“Fuck!” Break swore as he looked up into the stainless steel hood above one of the stoves and took in the entrance of two or three more gunmen there as reinforcements. “Raven, please!” Break pleaded, his heart thundering in his ears. “Please! Oz is in danger! We have to help Oz!”

“Oz...” Raven repeated the word and a little of the mistiness cleared from his eyes. “Oz...Juniper...” His hands began to shake and his mouth fell open and closed a few times. He reached compulsively for something around his neck. Break watched in confused horror as Raven pulled a gold chain bearing a spherical pendant from beneath his shirt and lifted it to his nose, inhaling deeply.

“Juniper...” Raven murmured again. “My juniper...”

 

 

* * *

 

                       

“Raven?”

Raven jumped and looked up from the cutting board before him. The onion he’d been working on sat half-diced and the carrot beside it not even peeled yet. “Oh,” he said, startled from reverie by a familiar, deep voice. “Sorry...”

Oscar’s large, familiar hand landed atop Raven’s head and ruffled his hair. “You seem more distracted than usual today...Reading something good?” Oscar asked with a bright smile.

Raven turned to look at him, unable to repress a smile of his own as he caught sight of Oscar’s. The bold, jovial man had flour in his beard and a familiar look of kind acceptance in his eyes. The warmth there drew instantly at what remained of Raven’s will to live and set a tiny flame burning in his heart. “Yes, Papa, I am,” he said with a nod as he returned to his chopping. “I’m reading _Peter Pan_. The copy Oswald got me for my birthday.”

Oscar turned back to the large ball of dough he was kneading with a mild chuckle. “Again? You’ve read it five times already!” he protested.

“Oh, I know,” Raven said with a slightly embarrassed laugh. “But I finished _Dune_ and _Frankenstein_ already.” He shook his head. “That’s not what I’m thinking about, though...I’m thinking about numbers.”

“Numbers?” Oscar asked in surprise. “What about them?”

“Well, just that...that they’re kind of...cool,” Raven said, swallowing nervously, a pang of fear welling up in him. _Don’t think I’m weird...Please don’t think I’m weird..._ he begged internally.

“Huh...Well I’m glad someone around here likes math! That’s a rare gift, Raven. You should use it...I have time off next week, to go home. If you’d like me to I’ll bring you a math book instead of more fiction when I come back, I will,” Oscar said, smiling down at the little boy beside him.

Gratitude and aching, hesitant excitement dared to well in Raven and he looked up at Oscar. “Really...?” he asked, his eyes wide and uncertain.

“Really! I _super_ promise,” Oscar replied, dropping a hand to ruffle Raven’s hair again. His palm left an imprint of flour white on Raven’s black curls and he laughed.

Raven smiled, shaking a little of the dust from his hair. “Thank you, Papa...” he murmured.

“You’re welcome, son,” Oscar replied.

As ever the sound of the word ‘son’ on Oscar’s lips, in his familiarly booming voice, filled Raven’s heart with aching, eager happiness. He swallowed tears and finished chopping up the vegetables on the cutting board before him then passed it to Oscar. “Here you go...Do you need help with anything else?” he asked, eager to help.

Oscar looked around thoughtfully at the ingredients on the counter before them. “Hmmm...I need basil. It grows in the herb garden. You remember which one it is, right? From the plant book I brought you, and everything I showed you?” he asked.

“Oh, yes!” Raven said eagerly. “Yes, Papa, I remember!”

Oscar beamed. “Well, go fetch me a _big_ bushel, then! Maybe by the time you’re done the lemon bars will be out of the oven! We’ll take a cooking break and have one together, alright?” he asked.

“Okay! Yes please!” Raven said eagerly. He set down his knife, untied the small black apron he wore, and hung it on its hook on his way out the door. He skipped up the servants’ stair that led to the grounds easily, a rare moment of utter brightness settling upon him. He pursed his lips and began to whistle as Oscar had taught him, the sound still breathy and unpracticed but no less joyful for it.

Raven rounded the corner onto one of the Manor’s long gravel paths, a genuine smile daring to ride up onto his lips. Every inkling of happiness slammed out of him in an instant. He ran smack into a solid wall of muscle and mottled camouflage clothing, smacking his head hard on the butt of a rifle.

“Hey! What the fuck are you doing out here!”

It was the gruff voice of one of Zai’s guards. Raven jumped back, looking up, terrified, into the man’s face for a moment before his eyes slammed back onto the ground. _Where they belong,_ he reminded himself. “I’m sorry,” he squeaked timidly.

“I’m sorry...?” the guard asked lowly.

“I’m sorry, _sir_ ,” Raven amended without hesitation. His voice threatened to dry up in his throat with every syllable, and his shoulders had begun to tremble.

“That’s more like it,” the guard growled. He took a step closer to Raven and reached down to place a hand on his chin. He jerked Raven’s face up and peered down into it. “You’re getting very pretty, aren’t you? How old are you now?” he asked, sickening interest piquing in his eyes.

“Tw-Twelve...” Raven whispered, his fists clenching hard and tears threatening to bud in his eyes. “P-Please, sir...I’m on an errand for the chef....I have to go...” he pleaded.

The guard scoffed. “The chef. Are you fucking _everyone_ around here you little slut? Don’t let Mr. Vessalius know or he’ll beat you again.” The guard sneered. “Or maybe let me do it...”

“No...” Raven whimpered. _No, it’s not like that! He’s my friend! He taught me how to whistle and ride a bicycle and read some words in French! He’s showing me how to make everything he knows how to cook! He’s nice to me! He makes me milk and honey when I’m hurt and sick!_ The further protests died somewhere between Raven’s brain and his tongue, rendering him silent.

The guard pulled Raven close and bent until their faces were only a few inches apart. “How about a kiss and I promise I’ll keep your secret?” he asked, his mouth contorting into a foul smile.

Nausea bit into Raven’s stomach and he swallowed. “I...I...”

“You’re lucky I’m not asking for more,” the guard growled.

_He’s right. Just a kiss. Just a minute and you can go. Do what he says and you can get out of here. Hide! Get away! Just do it!_ Raven’s insides twisted with illness and self-loathing but he leaned forward, pressing his small, delicate lips sweetly to the far older man’s. They were dry and soft like wet paper, rimmed with a neatly trimmed beard that prickled at Raven’s lips as they touched. His whole body gave a shudder and he let out a dry sob.

The man grabbed him hard, forcing the kiss to elongate though Raven tried to pull away. When he finally released him it was with a snickering laugh and a leering smile. “Little slut,” he repeated as he straightened and walked away without another word.

The tears awoke in Raven’s eyes even before the guard was out of sight. He raised his arm and swiped hard at his lips, already knowing it would do nothing to cleanse the intense feeling of dirtiness and sin that had become so native to him in the past three years. He sniffled, holding in as much as he could until the man was out of sight, then turned and bolted down the path, around the side of the house until he arrived in a secluded area. He tore off of the path and through some long grass until he reached the house’s wall, where he collapsed and drew his knees flush against his chest on instinct.

His body protested with a sharp sting of agony from between his legs and he released himself, crying out hopelessly against the pain.

A few bits of brick crumbled from the wall as Raven leaned his head back against it, sending a mild cascade of gravel tumbling onto his thin shoulders. He shut his eyes. The quiet warmth of sunlight traced a delicate pattern between the locks of dark hair covering his face, like an angel’s fingers. Raven sniffled. _Oswald...Oswald, come back..._ he begged. _Come back but stay away. You’re only here when Sir’s here. I want you home, but I never want to see Sir again!_ An echo of familiar pain pulsed through Raven’s lower back. His fingers clenched in the grass.

            Bloodstained sheets. The sharp reek of sex and sweat. Coarse hands touching, pressing, grabbing. Holding a gaze greener than a sunken world – _look at me, Gilbert._ The taste of submission – _yes sir._

            The order not to scream.

            At some point, Raven knew, he must have pictured his mother’s face. Must have shut his eyes and wept for her as Zai pushed his head down into the sheets or forced him to his knees. But if he ever knew what color his mother’s eyes were, he didn’t now. What he knew now was more concrete. You keep your mouth shut. You don’t speak with an accent. You clean yourself after. You keep your face down so he doesn’t notice you. You use your fingers before he calls you so that when he’s in you you don’t bleed as much. You keep your shoulders straight. You’re always okay, so you never cry. You learn your name. After three years, it was easy. Most of it.

            The wind set the leaves to rustling and Raven forced himself back into the present, back to the brush of his hair against his cheeks and the feel of the grass beneath him. Zai wouldn’t take this away, too. Not the golden rarity of this solitude. Not now that he’d left with his entourage in tow, bound for London or Tokyo or somewhere else far, far from the Manor and Raven.

            He opened his eyes and looked around. With his back against the house, the Manor’s grounds spread in a wide array of green around him. Neat lawns stretched before him, marred by gravel paths lined with immaculate rose bushes. A fountain bubbled nearby, and far in the distance the high hedges that mark the edge of the property rose darkly against the sky. They were living walls he was expressly forbidden to go beyond, so that no one outside the household would see him. He’d never tested the consequence of disobeying that order, but the guns and clubs and utter ruthlessness the guards carried didn’t leave much room for imagination.

            The breeze picked up again, tossing his hair into his eyes. He turned into it, his eyes snagging on the jagged crags of the distant Belgian mountains. Once they might have reminded him of home. Now they only looked like teeth gnawing away at the sky.

            _Mama. The moon. A horse and chickens and someone’s baby...That’s all I remember._

            In three years his new room – the moon room – had become a touchy, still fractured home complete with a few ever-filling bookshelves that housed everything from _The Magic Tree House_ to _Anna Karenina_ , a few poorly executed drawings hung on the walls, a wardrobe of his things, and an old second-hand telescope Oswald had bought him on one of his trips. Oswald and Oscar’s kindness had come to fill the space in small ways: A hula hoop. A few toy soldiers. A large set of blocks. Storybooks and art supplies and a globe with all the best ocean destinations marked on it. But still Raven ached. For Russia. For an answer to the incessant question of “ _why?”_ that haunted his every night. For a friend. He swallowed. _No friends for you, Gilbert. You don’t get any friends. Nobody other children would want to spend time with you, anyway. You’re dirty now._

A vibrant, melodic sound startled Raven and he looked up. He turned wildly, looking around the garden, his eyes wide in shock. The sound rang familiar and poignant, slamming through Raven with an ache like over-sweetened tea.

            A child’s laughter.

            The last remaining shred of a once endless tumble of curiosity drafted up in him. _Who is that? There’ve never been children at the Manor..._ He sat up straighter and looked around.

The child laughed again, the sound shattering through the air like breaking glass. It was a high, innocent sound. _You’re young..._ he thought, still looking around. _Younger than I am..._

            The laughter faded, replaced by the crunch of little feet over gravel, growing louder with every second. Raven’s shoulders tensed and he cowered back against the house.

All at once a tiny figure ran into view from around the side of the house. He was wrapped against the early March chill in a deep crimson coat, the hood pulled up to keep his face out of the wind. He was small, no older than five or six, and one of his little hands was outstretched into the wind, pulling a brightly colored kite behind him. Raven watched in utter, abject fascination as the child skipped a few more steps along the path then turned to watch his kite’s arc through the sky over his shoulder.

The knobbed roots of a rose bush stretching across the path caught the child by surprise. He stumbled and fell hard, his kite drifting to the ground and his hands snapping out instinctively before him to keep his head from hitting the ground. He skidded a few feet on the gravel and then came to a stop. For a moment there was perfect silence.

            Then the child began to wail, high and keen. Raven stared in stunned silence, panic fluttering to life in his heart. It was a familiar sound, the sound of agony. His heart began to race and his hands to shake. He wanted to run, to escape that sound…

            But it was too familiar. Ignoring his body’s cries of protest, Raven jumped to his feet and ran to the child’s side. He scooped the little boy up from the ground by his armpits and set him on his feet. He looked around desperately, his eyes shooting back the way he had come, towards the kitchen. _Oscar would know what to do...I should bring him to Oscar!_

            The little boy continued to wail, his bleeding hands covering his face and his scraped knees visible beneath a pair of plaid shorts. Raven swallowed nervously, hedging around the idea of simply deserting the child in favor of running scared back to Oscar in the kitchens.

After allowing himself a long moment of panic and indecision, Raven knelt before the boy. He was still sobbing into his tiny hands and showed no signs of stopping. The child’s knees were both skinned raw, his palms likely in a similar state. He was bleeding a little, but it was nothing serious. In minutes he’d be back to playing.

            “Hey there, shhhh, you’re fine. You’re okay,” Raven said, his English flawless, without any hint of an acccent. His hands shook as he reached out and touched the child’s shoulder. He’d never met a child before, had no idea if what he was doing was right or wrong.

An image rose unbidden from a long-buried corner of his memory. His mother’s hands, soft and warm, brushing his hair from his eyes. Her voice, the half-familiar Russian syllables. _It was just a little fall…_ Raven opened his mouth, trying to keep his voice even though the child’s continued wailing is driving a deep, sharp barb directly into his sensitive heart. “It was just a little fall,” he said. “You’re okay, it’s not so bad.” The child’s sobs began to quiet, taking on the hiccupping, shaky quality that meant he was calming down. Raven took the opportunity to examine the child a little more closely in the moment of increasing serenity. There was dirt in the child’s scrapes, black and sharp against the child’s pale skin. The blood and grit made Raven’s stomach drop and he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. “This is going to hurt a little…you can be brave for me, right?” he asked. The little boy nodded, his face still buried in his hands.

            Using the handkerchief, Raven swabbed as gently as he could at the scrapes until they were clear of dirt. On his third or fourth pass he swiped too hard and the child let out a little whimper. It was a sound he had heard from his own lips more times than he could count. Horror and sickness rushed through him.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” he said desperately.

When the child’s scrapes were clean he continued to blubber and sniffle, his little knees still shaking with upset and pain.

_What do I do?_ Raven wondered desperately. _Come on, Raven, **think**_ **!**

            Another vague memory of home blossomed unexpectedly in his mind. His mother’s voice again. _If you’re hurting, juniper will take the pain away...see?_ He looked up and around. “I’ll be right back,” he promised the child before rising and crossing the path. Large juniper bushes lined a stand of apple trees nearby. He pulled a handful of the strongly scented berries from the bush and returned to the child’s side, where he wrapped the berries in his dirtied handkerchief and crushed them in his hand.

            “This might sting a little,” Raven said nervously, fervently praying that the boy wouldn’t cry out again.

He dabbed the fragrant cloth against the boy’s knees, swallowing nausea once again.

            A few seconds passed then the child peeled his hands away from his face and blinked down at Raven in surprise. “What is that?” he asked in wonder. “You did magic! My knees stung and now they don’t sting _or_ hurt!” The child looks down into his palms then extends them to Raven. “Can you do it on my hands, too??”

            Raven smiled, happy to see the child recovering. He took one of the boy’s hands and looked up into his face to say something else.

            The entire world stopped.

            Raven’s breath whooshed violently away. He was pinned under violently green eyes, unable to move or speak. The ache in his lower back panged with fresh agony, his lips burned with new shame, and his mouth fell open in a soundless gasp. The boy smiled, and Raven’s heart stopped. He offered no reply.

            The boy blinked at him with a child’s curiosity. “Where did you learn that magic?” he asked. “Who are you?” The voice was high and full of life, not the hideously familiar tenor. The face was rounded instead of sharp. The hands hovered in the air instead of seizing at him.

            He responded compulsively. Disobedience had only ever meant suffering. “Master Zai’s…” he stumbled on the last word, his nearly shed accent slipping unbidden back into his speech, “…servant,” he said.

            The child giggled. “You talk funny,” he said.

            Raven winced. “Yes sir,” he whispered. He barely heard himself say it anymore.

            “What?” the child asks. He leaned forward to hear more clearly, his face coming within a few inches of Raven’s.

            Terror surged through Raven at the proximity and he fell back into the gravel. He forced himself to stay put though everything in his body screamed for flight and escape. His heart thudded hard against his chest and his fingers clenched in the gravel. “If I may, who are you…” He hesitated for a name, finally settling for “little sir?”

            The boy puffed out his chest proudly. The show of arrogance, though so different in the child than his father, was achingly familiar. “I’m Oz! Oz Vessalius!” He says.

            “Vessalius…” Raven mumbled. He’d been anticipating it. Expecting it. But somehow the shock of the name on this child’s tongue sent ricochets of horror dazzling along his spine. _Vessalius. Like vessel. You’re a ship person, too...Zai has a son_. Raven felt unexpected tears prick at the corners of his eyes as Oz smiled at him. It was dazzling and brilliant, worlds different than his father’s, which is so often full of sick satisfaction or eager, twisted desire. Still…those green eyes and the shape of his face, even the way he carries himself…there’s no doubt that when he grows up he’ll look just like Zai. Horror and sick hurt bubble up in Raven. _Maybe someday **he’ll** be Sir..._

            Oz cocked his head. “What’s your name?” he asked, his injuries forgotten now.

            Raven lowered his eyes on instinct and shrank into himself. It was a question Zai had asked countless times. _You learn your name. The name he gave you. Gilbert._ He did his best to smile at the child. _Is this some kind of joke?_ He wonders. “Gilbert, little sir.” The name still tasted foreign on Raven’s tongue, and burned with the feeling of surrender and shame.

            Oz frowned instantly. “No it’s not!” he declared.

            Raven’s gaze snapped up in shock. _He saw right through me. Oh God I thought I was so good at hiding now but he saw **right** through me!_

            “What’s your name?” Oz asked again.

            _Is this a trap?_ He wondered. It wasn’t hard to believe it was. Zai had done this before, tricked Raven into feeling safe and revealing hidden seeds of disobedience, then later making him pay. Those sick ruses were the reason Raven clung so desperately to Oswald and Oscar now, and trusted few others. He swallowed. “Gilbert _is_ my name, little sir,” he said.

            Oz stamped his small foot and threw his hands up. “No it isn’t! Why are you lying?! Gilbert wouldn’t be your name if you said it a million times!” he declared.

Raven stared at the child in wonder and shock. Oz’s outrage twisted, writhing in the ashes of Raven’s own long-dead retaliation to the sound. “I...” _I know. I know. Believe me, I know…but I don’t have a choice. There’s nothing else._ He told himself. Stifling the internal protest was easy by now. He was used to that. But Oz’s eyes remained fixed on him, childishly demanding. “Please, little sir—“

            Oz interrupted him. “Don’t call me that!” He paused, his voice growing more sincere and searching. “You hate that. My name is Oz! Say it...Oz,” he said.

            It was an order. Raven responded immediately. “Oz,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on the ground, every inch of his frame radiating tension and submission.

            Suddenly a tiny, soft hand pressed against Raven’s cheek. He froze. Another rested on his other cheek, and Raven found his face turned up by Oz’s gentle touch. He looked up into a soft, still face. The remnants of Oz’s tantrum manifest themselves in tear-tracks running down his cheeks. His velvet-green eyes are set magically alight by his golden hair. Something in his gaze is knowing and kind. _Not Zai’s face. Oz’s face..._ Wonder fills Raven at the thought.

            “What’s your name? Your _real_ name?” Oz’s voice was soft. Demanding, but not in the way Raven was used to.

            He took a shuddering breath and became aware of a familiar clutch at the back of his throat. _Why do I want to cry?_ He thought. “I’m… ворон,” he whispered. “Raven, in English.” _Not Gilbert. Not toy, not pet, not slave.._. He blinked and tears slipped down his cheeks.

            “Vorren…” Oz said. His tongue tripped on the unfamiliar syllables.

            “ворон,” Raven repeated. His spine tingled. _You don’t correct people. Other people are always right. You’re stupid._

            “во...рон,” Oz repeated, hesitating carefully over the syllables to pronounce them correctly.

            As he spoke he reached forward and took a few locks of Raven’s hair between his fingers, fiddling with the curls. “That’s a better name than Gilbert. Don’t you think?” Oz asked.

            Raven choked on a deep breath. He leaned into Oz’s touch. _These hands can’t belong to a sir...These are Oz’s hands, not Zai’s._ “Yes…” Raven replied in relief. He steadied himself. “Oz…I’ve never seen you here before. Where do you live?” he asked. _Please,_ he begged, _anywhere but—_

“I live here now!” Oz responded excitedly. “I lived with my mom in California before, but she had to go away,” his face fell momentarily, and then brightened again. “But my dad says it’s nice here.” Oz paused, blinking at Raven. They sat in silence for a moment, the wind tracing along the grounds again, blustering in Oz’s coat and Raven’s hair. “Why are you crying?” he asked quietly.

            _Because your father will be home in a few days…Because somehow he’ll know I told you my name and he’ll beat me for it…Because one night you’ll be up past your bedtime and hear something horrible from your father’s bedroom…Because when you’re a little older you’ll understand what I am…_ Raven’s mind screams. “I don’t know,” he lied.

            Oz hummed thoughtfully. “That’s a lie...” he said thoughtfully. But he didn’t push Raven for more answers. Instead he leaned down clumsily and kissed Raven’s cheek, where a fresh wave of tears was falling. Raven winced. Undeterred, Oz moved to kiss Raven’s other cheek.

“There,” Oz said as he pulled back. “My mom used to do that when I got sad.” He beamed. “Oh, _I_ know! How about I’ll kiss your tears away whenever you cry, ‘kay?” he asked.

Raven couldn’t even nod in response. He watched as Oz pulled away and ran the few steps to where his kite had drifted into the rose bushes. He picked it up and untangled the string from the thorns and brambles. “Well...I’m going to go play now! The wind is happy for my kite! Bye!” he said, a child’s eager anticipation filing him. Oz skipped a few feet down the path. Then something occurred to him and he turned to Raven. “ворон…don’t believe _anyone_ who says your name is Gilbert ever again. They’re wrong,” he said with a definitive nod. Then, after a final smile, Oz hoisted his kite above his head and took off into the trees.

            Raven remained on the path, staring after Oz. He raised a hand and pressed it to his cheek, where Oz had kissed him. It was dry of tears. After a few minutes, Raven pulled himself to his feet. His legs shook, and another dull ache passed along his spine. He looked down at the path. The place where Oz had fallen has marred its perfect evenness. _In five minutes he’s left a mark on this place...I haven’t done that in three years..._ Raven blinked in sudden realization. He looked at his hand, where he still held the handkerchief of juniper berries. _If you’re ever hurting, juniper will take the pain away…_ his mother’s voice echoed in his head again. “Juniper,” he murmured. He pressed the handkerchief to his chest. The strong smell soaked the air around him and filled his lungs as he inhaled. His face spread into a small, rare smile. This time it was Oz’s voice that fills his mind. _You did magic! My knees don’t hurt anymore!_

            Raven looked up, tracing the path to where it disappeared in the nearby orchard. His heart ached still, and his body. And though in the back of his mind he knew it would sharpen again in a matter of days, for now that ache was dull, almost distant. For the first time in years.

            Raven shook the berries out of the handkerchief then tucked it into his breast pocket, just above his heart. He pressed his hand to it and a slight draft of juniper scent wafted up and filled his next breath. “You’re my juniper,” he said softly.

 

* * *

 

            “ _Raven!_ ” A familiar voice begged.

            A gunshot ricocheted around. A flurry of others followed it.

            Raven gasped and came aware, flashbacks falling away from him like shattered china. _Oz. Oz. Oz._

_“You fight best when you have something to protect. So choose something.”_

            Raven blinked. “Oz!” he gasped, shoving Oswald’s voice from his head and forcing himself back into the present.

            _“You’re strong. You’ve been strong since the beginning. Now prove it.”_

Raven’s eyes flashed to Break, locking on him. “Where are they?” he growled lowly.

            The relief in Break’s eyes as Raven came aware was palpable. “Thirteen. Lining the wall by the door. I have eight bullets left,” he said, snapping into fierce, determined seriousness in an instant.

            “And I have five throwing knives.” Raven shifted into a crouch, his eyes going narrow and lethal. “So don’t fucking miss.”

            Break smiled brazenly back at him. “I won’t.” He was on his feet; aiming and firing eight times in quick succession, before Raven even had time to say anything. Six gunmen dropped instantly to the ground, wounds to their throats, faces, and chests sending them sprawling. Two got away with wounds to the stomach and kneecap and dropped instantly, their weapons discarded.

            Raven rose to his feet as Break fell, already flicking a throwing knife into his hand. The gunmen clearly recognized him and tightened their formation. But Raven was quick. Five flicks of his wrist, five throats opened and bleeding. He leaped over the counter, drawing another blade as he went, and ended the gunmen who had only suffered flesh wounds at Break’s hands. He clicked his tongue in annoyance as blood sprayed up onto his white shirt. “Amateur,” he scolded himself.

            Break walked around the counter after him, still on guard with the threat of Zai’s guard all around. He put away his pistols and took out his can, pressing the button to turn it into a sleek whip. He and Raven slid up beside one another, almost back-to-back.

            “Where’s Oz?” Raven growled. “You said he was in danger. Where is he?”

            “Last time I saw him he was with Liam. Hopefully they made it out,” Break replied.

            Break pulled the small, flat computer interface out of his pocket and woke it with a press of his finger. A few more touches and a holographic display appeared above the screen, displaying all the hotel’s floors and rooms in glowing blue. Dots swirled and spiraled, denoting the locations of gunmen and guests. Break’s stomach dropped. “Shit.”

            Raven whipped around, fire blazing in his eyes. “What?!” he asked in alarm. “What is it?!”

            Break turned and proffered the display. The purple dot that denoted Break’s location and the blue one that told Raven’s stood clustered beside an appropriate number of orange and red dots showing the gunmen they’d killed. A trail of still dots littered the hallways off of the lobby in both directions, showing the carving paths of destruction Liam, Break, and Raven had left in their wakes. The rest of the hotel was empty. Oz and Liam’s locations, noted by gold and green dots, were in the basement, down in the hallway where Liam’s room was located. They were positively ringed by a massive cluster of orange and red, at least 20 guardsmen lining the hallway and filling the room around them.

            “Oh my God,” Raven said, his hand flying to his mouth. His piercing gaze rocketed up to Break. “You better _hope_ they’re not moving because they’re captured, not dead.”

            _Liam..._ Genuine alarm and a wash of dizzy panic stirred in Break. He took a deep breath and steadied his shaking hand. “We...We need a plan,” he managed, barely staving off terror.

            “That’s in the staff’s quarters...Do you think Liam has some sort of escape passage in his room?” Raven asked urgently.

            “I wouldn't put it past him,” Break replied.

            “We need to get down there. Now,” Raven said bluntly. “I don’t care what it takes. There _must_ be a way!”

            Desperation and panic settled neatly over Break, encapsulating him in a cold wash of emotionlessness. He forced his breathing to steady and flicked his whip a few times across the floor, desperately searching for an answer. He froze, his shoulders tensing and sickness welling upon him as a thought rose out of the tumult to drown out the rest. “There is...” he replied breathlessly. He turned to Raven, an apology already in his eyes. “...But you’re not going to like it.”

 

           

 

           

           

 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some graphic depictions of violence in this chapter, and some pretty vicious dialogue with sexual references. No explicit sexual content.

            Liam ricocheted into consciousness as a foot slammed into the soft hollow of his stomach. He gasped, coughing, drawing a deep, wrenching breath. The second kick caught him halfway through his inhale, this one in his sternum, choking the breath out of him. Something deep in his ribcage popped and cracked, and a cry of pain jerked out of him. His eyes, driven wild and roving with shock and terror, focused on the familiar carpet of his quarters on the hotel’s lower floor. The heavy combat boots on the floor before him shifted in place. An agonizing thought made his jaw clench. _He’s going to hit you again._

            Liam tensed, his muscles contracting in preparation for the next blow.

            It struck him in the face, shattering one lens of his glasses along with part of his nose. The acrid sting of blood boiled down the back of his throat and he retched, his entire body contorting into a small shape on the floor where he lay.

            “Get him off the floor.”

            Two sets of hands landed on Liam, dragging him onto his knees. _They’ve stopped hitting you. Assess, 001. Assess the situation._ A cough racked through Liam and spots danced across his vision. _Hands tied. Ankles, too. Nose broken. Sight impaired. Bullet wounds to the side and shoulder._ He looked up, his one good eye locking on the figure across the room, seated in a low armchair, his side bandaged and his green eyes raking furiously over Liam. _Zai’s here._ Liam looked around, took in the six or seven other figures standing in the room, all clothed in some variation of partygoers’ clothing or Casino Royale uniforms. _And so’s his guard._ He swallowed, tasting blood again. _I’m fucked. That’s what it comes down to. I’m fucked_. His eyes were drawn magnetically to the opposite wall. To the brightly colored floral painting there, which had been left slightly off-kilter after the wild night Liam and Break had spent together. _That fucking close_. Liam chided himself. _Your escape route’s right there, behind that wall._

His eyes snapped back to Zai as he pulled himself out of his chair and jerked a club from one of the guards’ belts. _And you fucked it_.

            “Liam,” Zai growled as he stood and walked across the room, approaching Liam with the fury of a thunderstorm between his shoulders.

            “Fuck you,” Liam growled, blood scattering from his nose as he looked up at Zai.

            The club smacked sharply against Liam’s shoulder, searing against the flesh that had been left raw and bleeding by a bullet. “ _Traitor_ ,” he said lowly.

            A haze of red burned across Liam’s vision as the club struck him. He emerged from it with a gasp. His eyes fixed once more on Zai, tracking his movements. He paced in a tight circle around Liam, swinging the club in his outside hand, his other clamped firmly over the bandage on his side to keep it in place.

            “So. Are we going to do this on your terms...?” Zai asked, his voice forcibly light. Suddenly he whirled on Liam and brought the club in a wide, swinging arc, sending it crashing across Liam’s cheekbone. “Or mine.”

            The blow sent Liam spinning, vertigo crashing thunderously upon him as he was thrown to the floor. He lay there gasping, every nerve in his body afire as he did all he could to regain his senses.

            When he wrenched his eyes open he caught sight of another figure lying on his side on the floor, his hands and ankles bound. Oz. The sight of him, his blond hair sticky at his right temple with blood from a blow to the head, jarred Liam back into himself. His eyes widened and he let out a gasp. It turned into a cough as his aching ribs shifted.

            “Put him in that chair,” Zai snapped.

            Two strong sets of arms yanked Liam upright again and hauled him across the room to where the small hotel desk’s chair had been pushed to the center of the floor. He struggled and was nearly free in the moment the guards released him to tie his hands, but another crushing blow to his injured shoulder stilled him. Through another haze of half-consciousness he felt his hands being jerked around the back of the chair and tied to his ankles by a thin length of rope, making escape effectively impossible. He pulled on the knots anyway, dismayed to find them as iron-tight as if he himself had tied them.

            Zai surveyed his guards’ work. “Good. Now get out.” He nodded to the door and the men standing around him stood, walking in formation to the hotel room’s door, the last shutting it behind him.

            With no one left in the room but the furious Zai, Liam’s heart began to pound. He looked down at his lap for a moment, collecting himself. _You’ve trained for this. Brain off. Mouth closed. He’s going to torture you. Just take it. Either Break and Raven will come save you or you’ll die. What you say in between now and then is of no consequence, because either way you won’t be around much longer. Don’t give them the satisfaction_. His resolve gathered, Liam set his jaw and turned his eyes up to look at Zai, who was approaching him with the club in his hand.

            Zai reached Liam and extended the club, resting it beneath Liam’s chin and using it to force his head up. He leered down at him and pulled the club back, letting it fall to his side. “Is Liam your real name?” he asked coldly.

            Liam turned his face and spat out blood. He looked back up at Zai almost casually, a challenge in his eyes. _Piss him off and at least he’ll kill you quickly._ He offered no reply.

            Zai’s free hand clenched into a fist and then loosened. He brought his thumb up to Liam’s face and pressed it flat against the broken frame of his glasses, sending the little metal bits gouging into his cheek. “I asked you. A question,” he growled. Another few seconds of silence from Liam and Zai leaned back on his heels, his sneer shifting into an expression of utter rage. He turned, fetching something that one of the guards had left on the bed. It was a keen, silver knife with a blade as long as Zai’s forearm.

            Liam’s stomach turned and he felt his hands clench into tighter fists behind his back. It made his shoulder burn but he clung to the pain as his heart rate picked up, struggling to maintain his composure. _Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil..._ he began, reciting the familiar prayer to Saint Michael desperately in his head, to give him something other than the knife to focus on.

            Zai smiled, his icy green eyes effortlessly dissecting Liam. “You’re afraid of blades,” he said with a slight edge of satisfaction in his voice. He approached Liam slowly, swinging the long, machete-like knife back and forth to test its weight.

            Liam swallowed, collecting himself in the span of a breath, trying not to watch the arc of silver through the air, trying not to anticipate the burn of it in his skin.

            Zai reached Liam and extended the blade, tracing it along Liam’s bare calf, all the way up his thigh until the tip of it edged beneath Liam’s dress. He jabbed it sharply, sending the point into Liam’s skin hard enough to make him bleed. His satisfied smile only grew as Liam’s hands trembled. “I don’t know if you saw him, Liam...but someone here at this party is going to be _very_ disappointed to find out you’ve betrayed us...”

            Sickness sliced through Liam and he resisted the urge to submit. “You’re lying,” he said, shaking his head as he looked up at Zai, the flicker of defiance still in his eyes. “We both know where I’d be if he were here.”

            Zai smiled, a bland, cruel smile that split his lips slightly around his perfect teeth. He clicked his tongue. “Do you really want to risk it?” He lifted the blade again and walked another slow course around Liam, grazing the knife along Liam’s body as he went. “I’m a creative man, Liam. And I like to think I know a thing or two about pain. But _he_...” Zai shook his head softly, bending to whisper in Liam’s ear. “He’ll _destroy_ you. He likes to watch people bleed.” Zai smiled, jabbing the blade into Liam’s spine hard enough to pierce skin. “Or have you forgotten?”

            Panic leaped up in Liam’s throat and he forced himself to stay silent, biting down on his tongue so hard he could taste blood. He shuddered and hung his head.

            “I asked you an easy question,” Zai protested, jamming the knife just a little deeper into Liam’s back. “Is Liam your real name?”

            _Let him think he’s won. Just a little. Then when you pull back into silence he’ll get pissed off and kill you._ Liam looked up into Zai’s eyes. “Agent Liam Lunettes,” he said, a small smile full of feigned confidence searing up onto his lips. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

            Zai scoffed and pushed away from Liam. “That accent. Disgusting.” He held up the blade and examined his reflection in it. “I beat Gilbert’s out of him with a fire poker before he was even fluent in English. I wonder how much it’d take to-“

            “Raven,” a voice growled from somewhere to Zai’s right.

            Liam let his eyes fall closed in dismay. _Oz, no..._ he prayed. _Don’t be an idiot. Please. Please stay out of this._

            Zai’s keen smile flickered back onto his face and he turned slowly from Liam to face his son.

            Liam, too, turned to look at Oz as best he could. He’d struggled his way into a sitting position and was sitting back against the wall, wrath in his eyes. “His name is _Raven_ ,” Oz said, meeting Zai’s eyes fearlessly.

            “His name is _Gilbert_ ,” Zai returned, taking a step towards Oz, hefting the blade a little.

            Liam took a quiet breath. _You can’t let him get to Oz. You’re supposed to be protecting him_. He gathered what remained of his resolve and forced himself to give a dry laugh.

            The plan worked and Zai’s rage shifted targets once more, focusing solely on Liam. “You’re in no position to be laughing right now, _agent_ ,” Zai said, taking a few long steps across the room and lifting the knife to Liam’s face, smacking it against his brow hard enough to send a little rain of blood down into one of his eyes.

            Liam channeled his fear and desperation into another laugh, leaning forward in his chair as though in a fit of hilarity, hiding the terror in his eyes as he did.

            Zai grabbed Liam’s hair and jerked him backwards, forcing his head up and leaning down over him. “What’s. So. Funny?” he seethed, his blade whipping up and nicking Liam’s jaw.

            Liam gathered every scrap of defiance in his body and spat out blood into Zai’s face. Zai reeled back and Liam laughed harder. “You!” he declared. “You know, I’ve spoken with him. With _Raven_. He’s no more yours than I am! He might call you sir but you never broke hi-“

            Zai’s open palm cracked hard against Liam’s face at the same time his knee drove up between his legs. “ Shut up!” he roared.

            After a moment of blistering pain Liam looked up at Zai, his bravery no longer feigned as he spoke out in Raven’s defense. “I’m sorry, I can’t do that. I don’t take orders from _rapists_.”

            The word made Zai pause. At first it seemed he’d calmed as he drew back, his eyes growing cold and his hand loosening around the blade he held. “Say that again,” he dared.

            Liam met Zai’s eyes with a challenging stare. “Rapist,” he said slowly, letting the sounds grow more harsh and accentuated as he forced his accent heavily into the word.

            A shift in Zai’s eyes made it clear that what Liam had mistaken as calmness was instead a newer, deeper level of loathing and rage. He switched the knife into his left hand and balled his right into a fist, which he drove hard into Liam’s stomach, knocking the breath from him. “I’ve had enough of your shit...” he panted into Liam’s ear. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know. Then you’re going to watch me kill my son with this knife you’re so afraid of. Then I’m going to use it on you.”

            Liam turned his face, meeting Zai’s eyes defiantly. “Plans like that always sound so sweet, don’t they?” he said, shaking his head. “And people like you expect everything to go your way all the time...but it won’t.”

            “Oh?” Zai sneered and pulled back. “I’m minimally injured from a wound in a non-critical area, and I’m surrounded by a dozen capable soldiers...And you...” Zai surveyed Liam. “Are strapped to a chair, unarmed, and bleeding heavily. And the one other agent you brought with you for backup is nowhere to be found. He probably left you. He looked like the ordering type. I bet he’s already got Gilbert facedown in the penthouse and has him screaming ‘yes sir, yes sir, yes sir!’ as eagerly as he always-“

            “ _No!_ ” Oz shrieked. He leaped as best he could off the wall and rolled across the floor, slamming into his father’s calves and knocking him off-balance, sending him sprawling to the floor and knocking the knife out of his hand. “Don’t you say things like that about him!” Oz raged, his entire body thrashing against his bindings. Finding no way out of them he turned his face and sank his teeth hard into Zai’s calf.

            Zai howled in pain and rolled away from Oz, tearing out of his grip and kicking him hard in the head as he went. He sat panting, rubbing his calf, staring at his son, one pair of cool green eyes into another. “You think he’s in love with you, don’t you?” he asked coldly.

            “He _is_ in love with me,” Oz hissed back, still pulling at his bindings.

            Zai chuckled low in his throat. “Only because you look like me.”

            Oz bristled, his jaw clenching. “No! No that’s not tru-“

            “Prove it!” Zai said with a laugh. He reached for the knife and pulled himself to his feet. He walked the few short steps to Oz and kicked him hard, pushing him back a few feet. “When you turned fifteen I warned him. I said ‘Gilbert, if you fall in love with my son I’m going to kill him in front of you.’” Zai laughed and leaned down towards Oz. “And you know what he said? ‘Yes sir.’ Just like that! You’re _nothing_ to him, Oz.” His cutting smile curled up the corners of his mouth again. “But he is a _good_ fuck, isn’t he?”

            Liam, who’d taken Zai’s distraction as an opportunity to scramble with his bindings, finally managed to free his wrists from his ankles, using the slick trail of blood leaking steadily down his arm as a means of loosening the knot at the end of the rope. A flash of victory was overwhelmed instantaneously by the knowledge that he’d now be able to protect Oz. Liam planted his feet and swung his chair around, catching Zai in the side and sending him sprawling onto the bed. Liam launched after him as best he could with his hands still bound to the chair. “Don’t you talk about him like that!”

            Zai scrambled onto his back as Liam reached him and made a mad swing with the blade.

            It connected in Liam’s thigh with a sickening thud, vanishing at least a few inches into the meaty flesh there, the tip jarring as it struck bone.

            Liam stumbled to the side, shock washing over him and keeping him from feeling the agony in his leg for a few blissful moments. He looked down at it, numbly watching his own blood soak the carpet. _At least he missed the artery..._ he realized dully. He was far away and free, somehow looking on at himself from near the door, watching his weakened leg give out and his body begin to tumble towards the floor.

            The shock of impact jarred him back from the momentary swoon. He cried out as his hurt shoulder bounced off the floor and barely managed to use the momentum of the fall to turn his body so he wouldn’t be resting on it. His leg was shaking all the way up and his breath came in short, fitful gasps.

            “Liam!” Oz shouted as Liam hit the floor. He jolted forward, doing his best to reach Liam’s side.

            His efforts were interrupted by Zai as he stood in a whirl and surged to his son’s side, grabbing his bound wrists and hauling him across the room to the wall. “Stay there,” he said to him. “If you move, you die. If you speak I cut out your tongue.” He threw Oz down and took a step back. “Don’t try my patience any more you useless, stupid, deluded, pathetic _thing_.”

            He waited a few seconds, making sure Oz would remain silent, then turned over his shoulder and considered Liam quivering on the floor.

            “You’re a bold man, Liam, I’ll give you that,” Zai mused, walking towards Liam again. He reached the upended chair Liam was still bound to and kicked it hard, sending it onto its side and Liam with it, his good arm effectively crushed beneath his own bodyweight.

            Liam clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to scream as Zai bent forward and stuck an experimental finger into the large wound in Liam’s leg, tearing it wider. He glowered down at Liam’s silence. “Oh come now. It _hurts_ , doesn’t it? Don’t you want to scream?”

            Liam mustered all his remaining strength and turned to look up at Zai. “I’m not...afraid of you...” he said through clenched teeth.

            “I didn’t ask if you were afraid of me,” Zai said, digging his finger deeper into the wound. “I asked if it hurt.”

            A small whimper escaped Liam’s throat and he clenched his fists behind his back. His head fell forward, a moment of semi-consciousness sending his vision scattering into a myriad of blues and greens and purples. Bile rose in his throat but he choked it down. _Break..._ he thought desperately. _Where are you, you motherfucker? Zai can’t have been right about you...You’re a good man under all that bravado, I know it! Please...Please don’t be dead..._

            Zai took a deep, measured breath. “No ‘fuck you’s left, agent? No more of that brazen cockiness?” He grabbed Liam’s hair, jerking his head back and pressing the knife against his throat. A low chuckle escaped his throat and he looked up at Oz. “Have you ever seen someone die, son?”

            Liam’s eyes, too, snapped to Oz. _Look like you don’t care!_ He begged silently. _If you look like you don’t care it’ll buy me a few more minutes!_

            Seeming to have read the nonverbal message from Liam, Oz shifted his face until it was a mask of chilly dispassion. He shrugged.

            Zai leered at him. “You really are just like me, aren’t you?” He loosened his hold on Liam. “Well that’s no good. I want you to die scared, _son_.” Zai grated out the last word like it was acid on his tongue.

            Liam let out a heavy breath as Zai released his head and sent it slamming onto the floor. Relief pattered through him for a dizzy instant, then Zai’s hands were back on him. Zai shifted, his blade now shivering down one of Liam’s arms towards his hands. “What do you think, agent? How about I tell you something for every finger I break or cut off? Somewhere in there will be the one piece of information you were hoping to retrieve and bring back to whoever it is you work for...”

            Liam shut his eyes, another fervent prayer on his lips as Zai knelt beside him and reached around towards his hands. Momentary, sickening hope twisted Liam’s gut as Zai set the blade aside. But a moment later his strong, cruel hands were back, the heel of one hand bracing Liam’s right pinky and the left slamming down onto it, smashing the last knuckle and shattering the bone in the process.

            Though he fought with everything he was not to give in and scream, Liam’s instincts took over and he let out an agonized shout, his entire body seizing up around the sound. “ _Fuck!_ ”

            Zai laughed, watching as Oz’s perfect veneer of dispassion slipped slightly, allowing a moment of hesitant disgust through.

            Even through the haze of his pain-induced semi consciousness Liam sensed Oz’s intentions and sent him a momentary prayer. _Keep him doing it...I can make it through this. Give Break and Raven a few more minutes to show up and let me learn some things along the way._

            Zai sat back on his heels, watching Liam pant and bleed and tremble. “Well, a deal’s a deal...We’ll start with something big, while you’re still cognizant.”

            Zai reached into the breast pocket of his bloodstained dress shirt and pulled something out. It was a single playing card, an unremarkable three of diamonds. Liam blinked at it in confusion for a second, his hazy brain trying to work out what might be important about it.

            After letting Liam puzzle for a few seconds, Zai smiled and slowly turned the card around. Painted in neat strokes on the card’s back was a symbol. An oval with a circle within, filled with black in the shape of a crescent moon. A few lines radiated from the upper side of the oval, reaching all the way to the edge of the card. Zai looked down at Liam, reading the shocked expression on his face with a satisfied smile. “Do you know what this symbol means, Liam?”

            Liam swallowed, his blurry vision fixed on the card in Zai’s hand. “Baskervilles...” The word slipped out before he could stop it and a wash of fear settled over him.

            “Baskervilles,” Zai affirmed. He shook his head slowly, dropping the card onto the floor and reaching around behind Liam for another finger. “But that’s all your agency knows, isn’t it? Because that’s all _anyone’s_ agency knows.” He braced Liam’s left ring finger against his hand and slipped his other into position. “You’ll be the most informed agent in the world in a few minutes, Liam. What an honor to hold in your last few minutes here on earth.”

            Zai brought his free hand up to slam it onto Liam’s knuckle. Liam shut his eyes, another desperate prayer on his lips. _You can survive this. You can make it! You’ll find a way out, you always do. Just keep it up and he’ll tell you everything!_

            Zai’s eyes lifted and fixed coldly on Oz once more as he prepared to bring down his hand. He opened his mouth to speak, the corners of it still tipped up in a mad smile.

            Zai’s first word was interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door.

            Everything froze. Liam’s eyes lifted hopefully, his heart thundering in his chest.

            “What?” Zai growled.

            “Sir...the other agent’s here to see you. The albino,” a guard’s voice called from the hallway.

            Liam’s eyes fell closed and relief and irritation prickled up in him in equal measures. _Of course you show up now you sack of shit. Right when I’m about to learn something useful..._

            Zai’s mouth closed and a satisfied hum passed through him. “You see, Liam?” he said lowly. “For my guards to let him through he must be unarmed...He’s here to speak with me, not save you.” He raised his voice. “Open the door. Let him in.”

            The sound of the key passing over the lock was followed an instant later by the door swinging loosely open on its hinges. Guards still lined the hall outside, stationary and lethal, their weapons raised. One stood just behind Break, his gun at the ready.

            Break himself was flawless, his tie straight, his hair still pulled away from his face in the perfect twist he’d pulled it into before the party. A small bloodstain on his left side was the only indication he’d seen any combat. He held his cane in one hand, and leaned almost casually onto it as he faced Zai.

            His other hand was twisted up in Raven’s hair.

            As flawless and unstained as Break was, Raven was equally beaten, subdued, and haggard. His curly black hair was an utter mess, damp and sticky with sweat. His jacket had disappeared and his shirt was sloppily buttoned and half tucked in. His hands were tied behind his back so tight the pressure on his shoulders was visible. A thin gag looped around his mouth, cutting off all but a few sad, whimpering sounds as he sank lower to his knees, the pressure of Break’s hand in his hair forcing him down. Break’s cold eyes winked across the room, focusing first on Oz, then on Liam, then alighting on a long, barely visible crack running along the wall beneath the floral painting. His gaze finally came to rest on Zai.

            “Good evening,” Break said with a cold little smile.

            Zai’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here? I thought you and that little whore would be long gone by now.”

            Break hummed thoughtfully, tipping his head. “No...I tried him out, but he’s not really my style.” His eyes landed on Liam and his little smile grew. “That one, however...”

            Zai looked down at Liam. “Are you asking for a trade?” he asked, tipping his head.

            “Break, what the hell are you _doing_?!” Oz shouted, turning desperately onto his side and scooting towards the door.

            Break leaned his cane against the door and reached into his shoulder holster. He pulled out one of his pistols, cocked it to fire, and aimed straight at Oz. “Surviving,” he said matter-of-factly. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not a good agent before you start to believe me?”

            Oz came to a halt, his eyes full of fury. “You _bastard!_ ”

            Break gave a little shrug and clicked his tongue. “That’s a strong word to use against someone who’s pointing a gun at you,” he said, his lips pursing into a simper.

            Zai gave a cold little laugh, his eyes sparkling as he watched Break force Raven further towards the ground. “I knew I had you read right...You’re a man like me, aren’t you?” he asked with a smile.

            Break’s gaze shifted. “If you’re a man who doesn’t want to die in this hotel tonight then yes, I’m just like you.” He ground his hand harder against Raven’s head. “Now. Do we have a deal? Your whore for mine.”

            Liam’s heart froze. He stared at Break in numb shock, trying to fathom the change that had come over him. He was colder, now. Crueler. His eyes winked like blood instead of garnet, and his white skin had the chill of ice rather than the warm sheen of mist. “No!” he protested. “No, no, don’t! Don't do it! Don’t-“ The resounding thwack of a punch into his jaw sent Liam’s world whirling again, and he garbled his way into incoherent silence.

            “We have a deal. Hand over Gilbert and you’re free to go.”

            “You’re a _monster_ ,” Oz breathed, desperate, angry tears coursing down his face as he looked up at Break.

            “No. I’m a realist,” Break said. He released Raven’s head and shoved him forward with a kick to his upper back. Raven cried out as he hit the floor and Break looked back up at Zai. “Tied or untied?” he asked casually.

            Zai looked down coldly at Raven, analyzing him. “...Untied. But gagged.”

            Break knelt and began to work with the knot at Raven’s wrists. “Alright. So this is how this is going to work. I’m going to take Liam and leave the country. If I find out that any of your men have followed me they’ll be dead and so will you. I think you can tell by now that I’m not the sort of man to fuck around.” He finished untying Raven’s hands and stood back. “Your turn.”

            Zai kicked the blade away and hauled Liam’s chair back up onto its legs. He bent and began to work with the knot at his hands.

            Break’s eyes wandered the room as he waited. He fixated on the playing card on the floor and raised his eyebrows mildly. “Huh. So you know them, too.”

            Zai froze, looking up at Break. “The Baskervilles? Yes.” He smiled, something in it more desperate than he’d been yet. “You’re one of theirs, aren’t you? You have their look on you.”

            Break sighed and leaned back on his cane. “You should know by now that I’m not at liberty to say. As far as you’re concerned I never existed here at all.” His eyes narrowed and sharpened. “ _Right_?”

            “Yes, of course,” Zai said, bowing his head obediently. He finished untying Liam’s hands and released him. “There.” He shoved Liam hard, sending him sprawling onto the floor. “Get up.”

            Liam looked up at Break, his eyes seething with wrath. “No,” he protested. “If Raven stays, I stay too.”

            Break sighed in irritation and turned to the guard behind him. “Fetch him,” he said, nodding towards Liam.

            The man didn’t hesitate to obey. He stepped over the prone Raven and reached Liam, hauling him to his feet and dragging him towards the hallway.

            Break sidestepped out of their way as the guard finally got Liam out the door. He returned to the doorway and pulled the key out of his pocket, showing it to Zai. He turned it sideways in his hand and whipped it into the room, sending it spinning beneath the bed. “If you kill anyone else, clean it up. We don’t want anything that could lead to us hanging around.”

            Zai stammered a last desperate thanks as Break turned and slammed the door behind him, leaving Zai, Oz, and Raven alone in the hotel room.

            “What the fuck are you _doing?!_ ” Liam shouted as Break took a few steps towards him and the guard who was still holding him. “You fucking traitor! I trusted you! He trusted you! And you _betrayed us!_ ”

            Break reached Liam and stopped, looking up at him and the tall guard holding him still. He gave a long, measured sigh. “Let him go,” he said to the guard.

            The man let Liam fall and took a few steps back, then turned and began to run, sprinting as fast as he could down the hallway. Break clicked his tongue and pressed his thumb to the pad on the top of its cane, sending it slithering out in its liquid-like whip form. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he said, stepping over Liam and taking off running after the man.

            Liam whipped around, heedless of his injured leg as he propped himself up on an elbow to watch Break. He caught sight of him just as he caught up with the guard. A swish of silver and Break’s whip lashed out, catching the man around the throat and bringing him crashing to the ground. He spun, kneeling on his chest. His cane shifted again, becoming a solid sword, which he leaned up and drove straight into the man’s chest, so deeply it vanished halfway to the hilt.

            “I told you what would happen if you ran,” Break said with a soft, sinister shake of his head. “And you did it anyway.”

            Uneasiness prickled through Liam. He turned his eyes away from the growing ooze of blood gathering around Break’s sword and surveyed the guards standing on either side of the hall. His breath caught in his throat. They were all standing as they’d been ordered, weapons raised and backs against the wall. But on closer inspection it was evident that they only remained upright because of blades driven through their shoulders or throats or chests, pinning them bloodlessly and bonelessly to the wall. He turned back to Break as he removed his sword from the now very dead guard.

            Break wiped his sword on the man’s sleeve and turned it into a harmless cane once more. He turned to Liam. “I didn’t betray you. Raven and I did this. Killed all these men and left them here, and left that one alive to make it look convincing. This was our plan, Liam. I didn’t betray you. Raven’s armed, and he’s going to try to kill Zai.” Break stood and walked towards Liam, then dropped to one knee before him. “Can you walk? Or at least tell me where the other end of the escape route you’ve got hidden behind the wall is? We need to get there as quickly as possible, in case Zai subdues Raven.”

            Numbing shock had washed over Liam, covering him so thoroughly that he could hardly hear Break speak.

            “Liam!” Break said urgently, shaking Liam’s shoulder to try and rouse him. “Come on, 001! I need your help!”

            “You...You’re on our side...” he whispered.

            “Yes, yes I’m on your side. But that won’t mean much if Oz and Raven both die, will it? Come on. Get _up_! I need your help!”

            Liam blinked, still struggling to comprehend. “Then...Then how could you do that to Raven?! What the hell is wrong with you?!” he exclaimed.

            “It was a stupid plan, I know. But it got you out, didn’t it? Now _come on,_ Liam! Get on your feet! Raven needs us! I’m out of bullets, you’re unarmed, and these guards are all carrying close-range weapons, so if we want to be of any use we have to get back into that room! Now where is the entrance to that fucking escape tunnel?!”

            Liam blinked a few more times, finally managing to shove off the reaction-damping cloak of shock and pulling himself to his knees. He cried out and winced as the wound in his thigh smarted. “Give me your tie,” he ground out through his teeth.

            Break obeyed without hesitation, reading Liam’s mind and wrapping the tie tight around Liam’s thigh just above his wound to staunch the flow of blood to it. He helped Liam stand, then offered his cane. “Here. Walk with this. It’ll help.”

            Liam seized the cane and clung to it as he took a step. The agony of it almost drove him to collapse, but a slew of hideous imaginings of what might be going on behind the locked hotel room door spurred him on. “It’s this way,” he grunted, limping off down the hallway with Break’s support.

            They walked on in hurried silence, reaching the end of the hallway and exiting into the back stairwell, which like many areas in the hotel was now full of dead members of Zai’s personal guard, shot or stabbed and lying piled on the stairs. They reached the basement and hobbled their way along a disused service passageway, following the lines of several electrical and plumbing pipes. Finally they reached what seemed to be a dead end and Liam stooped with a loud grunt, digging his fingers into what appeared to be solid brickwork at the end of the narrow hall.

            “Help me,” he said to Break, looking back at him desperately. “This is the halfway point between my room and the outside, with a weapons deposit right beyond the wall. The passage travels between the hotel’s walls, and pops out in a storm drain on the grounds. I’ve rebricked this part of the passageway with chalk as mortar, so it’ll be easy to dig out.”

            They worked in silence for barely a minute, Liam using his left hand and holding his injured right against his chest and Break working with the end of his cane, punching large holes in the crumbly substance between the bricks. Eventually Break struck against a brick, sending it toppling into the hollow passage beyond. The disruption was enough to send the rest of the fake section of the wall crumbling in on itself, revealing a steep, narrow, pitch black passage beyond. Break swallowed, helping Liam lower himself into the hole and then following him, landing nimbly on the balls of his feet. He looked around, an unsettled fear creeping through him. “This looks like the entrance to hell...” he murmured.

            Liam reached up and pulled a sheet of false plywood from the far wall, revealing a hole within. He reached inside and returned with a pistol in his hand. He looked down at Break his eyes glinting in the darkness. “Scared of the dark?” he challenged, reaching into the hole and pulling out another gun and an ammunition belt, which he strapped around his hips and jammed the pistols into.

            “No,” Break replied with a firm shake of his head.

            “Good,” Liam said. He tossed a third pistol to Break and turned without another word, limping off down the passageway.

            Break paused, using the moment of solitude to lift his wrist and check a timer he’d set on the watch he wore, which he’d set to begin counting when he’d left Raven. _11 minutes and 19 seconds..._ He set off after Liam, jogging off into the dark without a moment’s hesitation. _Please...Please God don’t let it be too late._

           


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, congratulations. You've made it to the end of the first installment of the four-part series. This right here is the last chapter of Casino Royale! I hope you've all enjoyed the ride so far. Keep your eyes out for a teaser for the second installment of the series, Diamonds Are Forever, posted as a sort of bonus chapter to follow this one. 
> 
> As this chapter is the culmination of the story, a lot of the tags come back into play here. Though there aren't any unbelievably graphic descriptions there is a rape scene in this chapter, so be aware of that. 
> 
> There are also some descriptions of death and violence, too. Once again, nothing incredibly graphic, but be advised.

            Oz’s eyes were locked on the door as it slammed shut behind Break. His hands, though they were still tied behind his back, were shaking. His back ached with the tension between his shoulders.

            Silence gathered thin and cold and creeping as a fine mist in the hotel room. Zai was breathing heavily, his hand still pressed over the bandaged wound in his side. Raven lay prone on the floor still, his tightly shut and a hand clenched into a loose fist the only outward signs of the terror and agony Oz could feel radiating off of him.

            Oz himself was numb. Too many facets of his world had fallen away to leave him anything but utterly hollow. Anger and despair and a crushing feeling of loss thrummed through his blood with each heartbeat. He couldn’t even bring himself to look away from the door, still chasing the phantom hope that Break and Liam would appear there again to finish Zai off.

            _It’s not true,_ part of his brain begged silently. _Father made it up to get a rise out of you. Raven’s strong and smart and capable...No way could a man like Zai Vessalius hold him down..._ Sickness twisted Oz’s gut. _But he could hold down a nine-year-old boy._

            “You’re sick,” Oz hissed almost beneath his breath, every modicum of despair and anger in him emerging into the sound.

            Zai walked forward and kicked Oz hard in the back, sending him sprawling forward onto the floor a foot or so from Raven. “Shut. Up,” Zai growled.

            Oz ignored his father, scooting a few inches closer to Raven. “ворон.” Raven opened his eyes. The look in them couldn’t have been more unfamiliar to Oz. Defeat, sadness, fear, and resignation swam in the golden pools of Raven’s gaze. “Hey...Hey, it’s okay...” Oz soothed as best he could, though his voice trembled with emotion. “It’s just a nightmare. The moon will rise soon, like Oswald always used to say. You and I will be free again.” The tender note of hope blossoming in Raven’s eyes as Oz spoke made him gasp slightly for breath and let out a tiny, hitched breath. His voice grew thin and desperate, each sound almost choking him. “Just like before! Just like when we left the Manor for good! I’m going to save you, Bорон! We’re going to fly away just like Peter Pan and Wendy, and see the world, and be free!”

            Oz felt Zai’s hand clamp in his hair a moment before he was yanked backwards. He gave a loud, sharp cry of protest and struggled madly, kicking and writhing in his bindings as he’d seen Liam do. “ _NO!_ ” Oz screamed, thrashing against Zai. Zai ignored the attempts, grabbing the back of Oz’s shirt hard and hauling him away from Raven, dragging him towards the bed.

            Zai lifted a hand and slammed his fist down hard on the bloody spot on Oz’s head where he’d been hit to knock him out. Oz gasped and spluttered, momentary unconsciousness reeling through him.

            “No,” Oz protested more weakly, ache blooming between his temples like a sickly flower.

            Zai hauled him onto the bed, dragging him towards the headboard and yanking his arms behind him, tying him to the headboard with the rope he’d untied from around Liam’s wrists.

            Oz lashed out with a kick but Zai dodged aside and backed up a few steps, out of range. He stood considering his son, his eyes cold and uncaring. “Stand up, Gilbert,” he ordered coolly.

            “Yes sir,” Raven whimpered through the gag in his mouth. He hauled himself to his feet and stood trembling in the middle of the room, his eyes pointedly fixed on the floor.

            Zai turned and walked across the room towards Raven. He drew close and one of his hands rose, twisting in Raven’s hair and slowly pushing him down to his knees.

            Oz’s gut clenched hard as Raven offered no protest or struggle. Terror rose in his eyes, but he made no move to voice it. “Raven…” Oz whispered sadly.

            “I’m sorry…” Raven whimpered as best he could, lowering his head.

            “Sorry to whom?” Zai growled, taking Raven’s chin in his hands and yanking it up.

            Raven cried out in pain as his teeth clenched together hard. He looked up at Zai and for half a second it seemed he might rise against him. His untied hands clenched into fists on his thighs and he took a deep breath through his gag.

            Zai’s lip curled back in a snarl. “Don’t even think about it. Look where I’ve got your precious little Oz now,” he said. “One false move and I’ll fuck him bloody right in front of you.”

            “I’d like to see you try,” Oz hissed, his eyes just as cold and cutting as his father’s.

            “Oh, would you?” Zai asked. He dropped his hold on Raven’s hair and whipped around to face Oz, taking a heated step in his direction.

            Raven all but screamed through his gag, crying out in violent protest and throwing himself to the floor, reaching up to paw at Zai’s hand, to cling to it and drag himself forward, begging at Zai’s feet.

            “No, no, no please I’ll do anything please. Please, sir!” he begged, only half-coherent through his gag and the tears now streaming thickly from both eyes.

            “Are you crying?!” Zai sneered. “You haven’t cried since you were nine years old. Before you learned how to just lie down and take it like the little whore you are.”

            “Don’t you fucking dare,” Oz shouted, writhing with new fury against the rope that bound him.

            Zai shot him a glare. “Gilbert…?” he queried, his voice smooth and quiet. “Are you a whore?”

            “Yes si-“

            “No!” Oz insisted. “You’re smart and funny and an amazing photographer and shy and special and strong! Raven, listen to me!”

            “His name is Gilbert,” Zai said, the last word low and harsh on his tongue. “Get that through your stupid head or I’ll carve it into a bullet and blast it through your brain to see if that gets the fucking message across.”

            “You’re not going to win,” Oz said with a shake of his head, defiance still fluttering in his eyes. “You don’t think I have contingencies set up all over the world? You really think those two agents know enough about computers to do something like releasing records you’ve kept secret for two decades? The records of those factories you built in Bosnia and Herzegovina, to filter illegal weapons and kidnapped children out of the Middle East and Eastern Europe? I know every one of their locations. And the faces of at least 50 victims.”

            Oz’s heart froze as a slow, cruel smile grew on Zai’s face. He clicked his tongue and turned to look down at Raven. “I only keep that data in one place, pet…” he crooned. “On the double-locked part of my personal server…It seems your curious little Jackrabbit’s dug himself quite the hole.” He hummed quietly, his voice low and sickening. “We know what’s at the bottom of that, don’t we, Gilbert? All those pretty pictures of you?” Zai reached behind him and dragged Raven’s head up so he was looking at Oz, then turned to his son himself. “You saw them, didn’t you? All those pictures?”

            Oz swallowed, tears threatening him again. He could feel Raven’s desperate, utterly ashamed eyes on him, but couldn’t bring himself to meet Raven’s gaze as he responded. “Yes…” he admitted. “But I don’t care. I don’t care what you did to him! He’s still my best friend!”

            Zai barked a laugh and shook his head slowly. “How very noble…” he leered. He turned and looked down at Raven, running his fingers through his hair and locking them at the back of his skull, dragging his face up to look at him. “You know that server breach came to my attention over four months ago.” He said with a small sigh. “All that time he’s known what you are…and he’s done nothing at all to stop it.”

            “No…” Oz breathed, horror surging up in his blood. “No, no that’s not true…”

            “Yes it is,” Zai replied evenly. “And there wasn’t just one security failure…There were three.” His sick smile twisted up on his face again as he studied Raven’s face. “He liked what he saw and went back for more. Like father, like son I guess.”

            “No! No that’s not true! I needed more information! I didn’t want to see that hideous shit again! Raven, Raven that’s not why! That’s not what I wanted, please! I didn’t mean to!” Oz protested wildly.

            Zai chuckled and took a step towards the bed, dragging Raven with him. “Look at his face,” he said to Raven. “Look how disgusted he is…”

            “Stop it!” Oz screamed, writhing anew as Zai dragged Raven towards the other side of the bed. “Stop it that’s not true! I’m not!” He gave a dry sob and looked over at Raven, his eyes full of heartache and tears. “It’s not true! Raven, no…no…I don’t care what I saw. It doesn’t matter to me! You are what matters to me, and you aren’t that!”

            “He was curious,” Zai argued, pushing Raven to his knees hard, grabbing his hair and forcing his face down onto the bed. “That’s why he didn’t say anything for all this time…He could have. You and I both know he could have…But I’ll bet he wanted to see what you’d do to him, since he and I look so, so much alike…”

            “I’m going to kill you!” Oz screamed, his shoulder smarting in its socket with the force of his struggling.

            Raven gave a weak sob and winced, flinching from Oz’s anger and from instinctive terror at what he could feel coming, at the familiar weight of Zai’s hands on his back and shoulders as he began to undress him.

            “No, you’re not.” Zai retorted. He walked across the room and opened a drawer in Liam’s desk, pulling out a large, heavy handgun and an extra magazine for it. “Whoever Liam Lunettes really was, he was damn good at his job.” He commented mildly as he returned to the bed with the gun in his hand. “He killed six of my men with two bullets left in this gun.” Zai slipped the new magazine into the handgun and flipped off the safety. He pointed it experimentally at the floor and fired. His aim wasn’t exact and the gun’s kick sent his arm in a little arc, but the floor where he’d aimed had still ruptured, leaving a small hole and a swathe of decimated boards surrounding it.

            The sound and smell of the gunshot made Raven wince again, and he buried his face in the bedclothes, screwing his eyes shut and wrapping his arms around his head, his entire body quivering in fear.

            Zai shook his head slowly. “Look at you, Gilbert. Foul and pitiful and afraid…You’re weak.”

            “Yes sir,” Raven whimpered. “Please…”

            “Please what?” Zai asked, leaning in close over Raven and untucking his shirt from his pants.

            “Please don’t…don’t fire any more shots…Please don’t…hurt Oz,” he said, biting down hard on his gag with every word.

            “And what will you give me if I don’t?” Zai purred, reaching up under Raven’s shirt and sliding his large, unkind hand up and down his spine.

            “Whatever you want…” Raven sobbed hard into the bed. “Sir.”

            “Raven, no!” Oz protested. “No, no, no don’t let him hurt you! No!”

            “Sir, please!” Raven countered. “Please I…” he audibly choked on his next breath, but forced himself to go on speaking. “I want…you…”

            “No you don’t!” Oz shouted, his voice desperate and crazed. “No! Zai, father, please! Please don’t!”

            Zai gave a low hum and reached around Raven, unbelting his pants and unzipping them loudly enough that Oz could hear it.

            “I want you to look at him,” Zai ordered, yanking Raven’s head up and forcing his face towards Oz. “Let him watch your eyes while I’m fucking you.”

            “Yes, sir…” Raven whispered. His gaze had gone hopeless and utterly destroyed. There was no room even in it for shame, so ruled was it by defeat and heartache.

            “No…” Oz whispered, shaking his head fiercely. He wanted to scream. To lash out in protest. But his body had locked up, his arms gone rigid and his legs limp and weak. “No…you can’t do this…”

            Zai breathed a laugh. “I’ve been doing this for fifteen years, Oz. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

            Oz and Raven gave twin tiny sobs as Zai pulled down Raven’s pants and began to fumble with his own.

            “No, stop!” Oz shouted again, struggling anew. “Kill me, fuck _me_ , I don’t care what you do to me just let him _go!_ Raven didn’t know about the plan! And when he found out he told me over and over again to stop! It was my fault! He has no part in this, don’t _do this to him!_ ”

            “I don’t care whether he knew or not,” Zai roared. “I don’t give a shit what this little slut knew or didn’t know. I don’t even care who he fucked.” He picked up the gun and pointed it at Oz with one hand, his other jerking down his pants. He looked down at Raven, loathing and cruel ire in his eyes. “He’s dead when I’m finished.” Zai growled. “So you’d better make it last.”

            Raven let out a sad, scared, impossibly weak cry and clutched hard at the sheets, his shoulders trembling. “I’m so-sorry,” he sobbed as Zai pressed close against him. His eyes were locked on Oz’s, just as Zai had ordered.

            “No...” Oz said, his voice aching with heartfelt desperation and utter despair. “No. You’re...You’re not...You don’t have to apologize...”

            Raven gave a strangled shout as Zai pushed forward, driving him into the bed with a grunt.

            Oz let out a soft cry, his hands clenching into fists, but he didn’t look away from Raven. “Shhh...” he murmured, his eyes filling with tears. “No, no, no...don’t cry...” he said, forcing an echo of his normally bright smile to awaken on his face. “There’s no need to cry...I’m here...Just look at me. Nothing else matters. Just you and me.” Oz’s heart was wrenched in two, and then in two again, and then into a million bleeding, tattered fragments as Zai continued to push into Raven, forcing his hips against the bedframe again and again, setting it shaking. “Look...” he continued, ragged hope in his voice. “I’m still smiling at you...aren’t I? Nothing’s going to change...Nothing.”

            The heartbreak and shame needling through Raven was almost tangibly visible in every inch of his body. In the way his hands shook, in the tears streaming down his face, in how he made no move to stop Zai or any sort of protest against him. He gasped a small sob, his lip trembling. “Oz...” he whimpered through his gag.

            “Your juniper.” Oz said firmly, with a nod. “And if I die right here I’ll still be your juniper...Your best friend. Nothing can change that. Nothing. Do you hear me, Raven?”

            “Ra...ven...” Raven whimpered, the syllables strained and forced, like he couldn’t bear to utter them, even quietly. “Rav...en...”

            “What did you say?!” Zai roared, slamming the flat of his hand hard against Raven’s ear.

            “I’m sorry!” Raven gasped, his voice muffled and mostly incoherent through his gag. “I’m sorry, sir!”

            “I’m sick of this stupid thing,” Zai growled, reaching forward and yanking the tightly rolled tie acting as a gag from Raven’s mouth. He tossed it onto the bed beside them. “Now...” his voice became a sickening croon. “Apologize to me again...”

            Raven gave a heartfelt, weakened sob. “I’m sorry, sir...” he said with a shudder, letting out a strangled cry as Zai drove him into the bed again.

            Zai reached down, yanking Raven’s head back so he was looking up at Oz. “What about him? Are you sorry to him? For making him see what a disgusting piece of trash you really are?” he growled.

            Raven’s eyes met Oz’s, gold and green both shimmering with tears. “Oz...” Raven whimpered.

            “Raven,” Oz echoed. Sickness was stirring in him, tightening his stomach into knots and setting his shoulders shaking hard. Numbness and horror still buzzed in the back of his throat, and he could feel his fists clenched in on themselves with such force that his nails dug red crescents into his palms. But still his eyes remained fixed on Raven, some echo of determination clinging to the corners of his gaze.

            Raven’s mouth opened to say something else but Oz shook his head. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t you _dare_ say you’re sorry,” he insisted.

            Raven gave another sob, his eyes trailing over Oz’s face. Oz could feel himself being searched; feel Raven’s desperation like a spider web prickling against every centimeter of his face. Zai’s pace increased and Raven gave a sharp cry, his head dropping out of Zai’s hand and down onto the bed, where he screamed and bit hard at the sheets.

            “ _Stop it!_ ” Oz shrieked, struggling anew against his bindings as Zai’s next thrust shoved Raven unbelievably hard into the bed.

            Raven’s hand shot out, searching for purchase somewhere. He found nothing but the discarded tie, which he clung to like a lifeline, his knuckles white with the force of his grip.

            Oz’s resolve finally fizzled out. A wave of hopeless despair and a crushing, violent ache settled over him. He let out a sob, his chin dropping forward onto his chest. “Raven...” he said again, his voice a weakened whimper.

            The room went utterly still. No one spoke or even breathed it seemed, for a moment. Then Raven lifted his head from the bed and blinked twice at Oz. His gaze was alive with new focus, his eyes narrowed and somehow determined. Oz barely had time to blink in surprise at the shift before Raven was moving.

            It was almost too quick for Oz to catch, would have been if he weren’t so focused on Raven’s hands. Raven tugged hard on a loose tab of fabric near the top of the tie and something followed his hand as it jerked away. It was a coil of rigid, silver wire that had been sewn carefully into the lining of the tie to disguise its presence. Raven gave a heartfelt, broken, angry cry and whirled around with it in his hands. His greater strength allowed him to burst free of Zai’s grip, sending the half-naked man sprawling to the floor with a yelp of surprise.

            Raven was on him in a second, pinning him to the ground with his knees. “Gilbert, get off!” he raged, a hint of fear creeping through the fury in his voice.

            “No!” Raven said, the word shaky and hesitant.

            Zai thrashed beneath Raven and raised his gun. Raven pinned his arm down but Zai raised his other, slamming it hard into Raven’s ear.

            Raven gave another cry. “ _NO!_ ” He repeated. He grabbed Zai’s free wrist in his hand and slammed it down on the ground so hard he heard something crack.

            Raven hesitated for a heartbeat, an uncertain war awaking behind his eyes. The moment of hesitance allowed Zai a chance to raise his arm with the gun in it again. He took a shot, but missed as Raven jerked his arm aside. Two bullets flew into the ceiling and one more into the opposite wall. Raven dared to release Zai’s hands and looped the keen, thin garroting wire around his neck. He pulled it taut, blocking out the sound of Zai’s strangled cry of surprise and his own sick, twisting gut. _Obey. Obey. You can’t kill sir. Obey. Obey. It’s not too late, he won’t punish you if you stop now._

            Raven tightened his grip on the garrote though his hands were shaking and his eyes full of tears. Zai’s broken arm flailed uselessly on the floor, but the one with the gun in it rose once more, now that Raven’s hands were occupied. Zai gasped for breath and writhed weakly, but still the gun rose towards Raven’s head, pressing uncertainly against the side of his jaw.

            A shot rang out through the room.

            The cacophony that followed it was full of dust and movement, everything happening too fast to process. Part of the wall across the room, beneath a crooked painting, caved in in a spray of dust and rubble. Break burst into the room first and fired a second shot, and then a third, straight into Zai’s hand.

            Liam wasn’t half a second behind. “Raven!” He called.

            Raven looked up just in time to catch the pistol Liam threw to him. He released his hold on the garrote around Zai’s purpling neck and took the gun in both hands. His face, when he looked down at Zai, was full of unspeakable loathing and wrathful disdain. “You...” He swallowed, blinking the last of his tears away. “You...”

            Zai looked away, over at Break. “I thought you were on my side,” he said mildly, the defeat in his voice cool and smooth.

            “Looks like I lied,” Break said with a shrug, leaning on his cane.

            Zai’s head turned again and he looked up at Raven. “Some friends you’ve got, Gilbert. One sold you to me and another let you live under my thumb for months after he could ha-“

            “Shut up!” Raven growled, pressing the gun firmly against the middle of Zai’s forehead. “S-Shut up...” he said again, more hesitantly.

            Zai gave Raven a cutting smile. “You won’t do it. You’re scared and weak.”

            “You’re wrong,” Raven whispered, his hands undeniably shaking as he cocked the gun to fire. “You’re wrong...”

            “Prove it,” Zai growled.

            The sudden bang of the gunshot ricocheted through them all at once. Oz jumped, Break’s grip on his cane tightened, and Liam sagged back to lean against the desk.

            The gun fell from Raven’s trembling hands, clattering to the floor at the dead man’s side. Utter silence descended over them all, unaccented even by breath. Raven watched the pool of blood begin to spread from the back of Zai’s head, watched the light leave his eyes, felt his body begin to stiffen and shake with rigor mortis. He looked up and around, his eyes landing on Liam and then on Break. Then he turned his head and dared to look up and meet Oz’s eyes. “I...”

            Break walked across the room in silence. He reached Oz and fumbled with the complex knot his hands were wound through for a long second before managing to free him.

            Heedless of the rope still binding his ankles, Oz launched himself across the bed. He rolled to the floor, whacking his head hard on his dead father’s foot, and reached up to Raven.

            Raven whipped around, barely taking the time to zip and button his pants and haul himself off of Zai’s body before he pulled Oz into his chest. One of his hands dropped around Oz’s shoulders, the other found purchase in his hair, tangling with it as he held him as close as he could. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

            Oz clung to Raven just as hard, burrowing into the familiar safety of his chest. He shook his head vehemently. “No. No, you have no reason to be sorry. You...You didn’t do _anything_ wrong.”

            “I killed your fa-“

            Oz pulled away enough to look Raven in the eyes. “That motherfucker deserved to die.”

            Raven looked down into Oz’s face, finally giving in to the tears that had been building for so long. He sobbed, sinking back onto his heels. He clenched his fists and looked up at Oz now, his expression a wreck of gut-wrenching despair. “I...I never meant for you to know...” he said weakly.

            “I can’t believe it took me so long to figure it out,” Oz said back, biting his lip. “Some genius I am.”

            Silence hung between them for a few seconds. Raven rose to his feet and walked around to Oz’s other side, untying his ankles. “I...I know you won’t want me anymore. But please...Please let me...let me keep being your bodyguard. I...I have nowhere else to go.”

            Oz, his ankles now free, turned and fumbled his way to his feet. He reached down and helped Raven to his. He looked up at him through the slight, beloved distance in their heights and shook his head softly. “You idiot,” he murmured. He took a step forward and embraced Raven, holding him just as tightly as he always had. “You’re still my very most special friend. Just like you’ve always been,” he half-whispered in Raven’s ear.

            Raven’s arms tightened around Oz and he buried his face against his neck. “God, I...Thank you, Oz...Thank you.”

            Liam and Break exchanged a glance and Liam stood from his chair, taking a hesitant step towards Oz and Raven. “I...Sorry to interrupt but...the police will be here soon. We need to stage the scene to make it look like you didn’t do this,” he said quietly.

            Raven took a deep breath and pulled away from Oz, turning to Liam. “What do we do?”

            “Hand me the gun that killed him,” Liam instructed gently. When Raven did he wiped it on the fabric of his dress. He took a hobbling step towards Zai’s body, already raising the gun.

            “Liam,” Break said, darting forward and taking the gun from him. “Let me. Just rest, for now.” Break took the gun and knelt over Zai’s body just as Raven had. He raised the gun in both hands and fired a second shot millimeters from the first. He dropped the gun carefully a few feet away, to avoid the growing pool of blood surrounding Zai’s head. “My fingerprints on the gun that killed him. And this is Liam’s room. We’re agents that went rogue, and this was our plan. Oz, you hired us for extra security at this event, since you were planning on confronting your father on something to do with the business. But we betrayed you. We held you hostage to keep Raven from attacking.” He fixed his gaze on Raven. “But you came to defend him anyway. You weren’t in time to save Zai...but you and Liam fought and you eventually wounded him so badly that we fled after knocking you both unconscious.” He looked around the room. “That’s the story. Two vigilantes take the fall and you and Oz aren’t implicated. Right?”

            Oz and Raven looked at one another, and then at Break. “Right,” Oz said. “But...But all of us know who _really_ killed Zai, don’t we?”

            Liam and Raven’s gazes connected for a moment. Liam smiled. “Fuck yeah we do.”

            Break stood and walked across the room to fetch his cane. “We really will need to knock you two out,” he said. “To make it believable.”

            Raven took a deep breath and heaved a laugh o the tail end of his exhale. “You know, that doesn’t sound half bad. I think I could use a nap...” he joked weakly.

            Liam smiled at him. “Come here,” he said, waving his hand towards Raven.

            Raven approached Liam, his eyes full of defeat and triumph and heartache. “Thank you, Liam,” Raven said softly as he approached. The full scope of Liam’s injuries was visible now, and the violence with which he’d been treated made Raven’s stomach turn. “Are you...going to be okay to get out of here?”

            “Don’t worry about me,” Liam said with a half-smile and a shake of his head. “I’ll be alright. The place Oz arranged for us to stay is a small beach house an hour away by a car he’s already got waiting off the property for us. Break can drive. I need a nap myself.”

            Raven nodded. “Thank you. I...It’s been a long time since I made a friend.”

            “Same here,” Liam said with a nod. “Please don’t be a stranger.”

            “I’ll miss you,” Raven said softly.

            Liam rolled his eyes and gave a joking laugh. “Oh, you won’t have time to. If you think this is the end of the mischief you’ll be seeing from me then prepare to be sorely disappointed. We’ll see each other again. I’ve no doubt of it. And until then...enjoy the world, Raven. Good luck.”

            “And to you, my friend. Thank you again.” He and Liam smiled at one another again and Raven took a step back, holding out his hands. “Alright, make it quick.”

            “Hold your breath and this’ll only take three or four seconds to knock you out painlessly,” Liam promised. He stepped up behind Raven and pinned one arm against his back. His other he looped beneath Raven’s jaw and left arm. He pulled his arms tight, and as he did Raven held his breath. The hold worked its magic in a matter of the three or four seconds Liam had promised, and Raven fell heavy in Liam’s arms. He lowered him slowly to the ground near the desk, and kicked the machete that had been used to cut him closer to Raven’s hand. “Sleep well,” he said with a smile.

            Oz watched Raven go down with a sigh, then turned to Break. “I don’t expect you’re going to be that gentle with me,” he said, a little joking light returning to his eyes.

            “Most certainly not,” Break quipped. He blinked at Oz. “That was a good thing you did. Not letting what you saw change anything.”

            “Raven’s been my friend almost as long as I can remember,” Oz insisted. “Nothing can change that.”

            “Well keep it up,” Break said softly. “Scars like what’s been done to him don’t fade overnight.”

            “I know,” Oz said. He took a deep breath and crossed his arms. “Well...I can’t say I particularly enjoyed your company, but I couldn’t have done this without you. So thanks, I guess.”

            “Thanks yourself. We’ll see you around, I’m sure.” He smiled. “Don’t think for one second you’re going to get away with continuing to be Jackrabbit unhindered. Watch your back, Oz. I’m on your trail.”

            “Oh I’m _so_ terrified,” Oz said with a roll of his eyes.

            “Don’t insult the person about to whack you on the head with the butt of a pistol,” Break warned, clicking his tongue.

            Oz sighed. “Just get this over with, asshole. And don’t enjoy it _too_ much.”

            Break tittered a laugh and adjusted his grip on the pistol in his hand. “No promises.” He raised the pistol and brought it down hard on the back of Oz’s head. Oz’s eyes fell shut and he crumbled to his knees and then onto his side near his father’s body. “Damn that felt good,” Break said with a smile.

            Left alone in the room, Liam and Break looked up at one another. They drew twin deep breaths and let out anxious, breathless laughs.

            “That was a terrible plan,” Liam said with a shake of his head.

            “I know,” Break said. He looked down at Raven’s unconscious form. “I owe him such an apology...”

            “You’ll have time to make it up to him. For now I need stitches, a hot shower, and to sleep for at least a decade. Come on.” Liam nodded towards the open escape passage.

            Break walked up to Liam and looped his arm around his chest, allowing him to sag some of his weight onto him. They left the room and made their way along the escape passage once more, following it past where they’d initially entered it, all the way to the end. It emptied out into the building’s foundation, following an underground spring of seawater that would wash away any evidence of which way they’d gone. At Liam’s direction they followed it upstream, and eventually it led to a large storm drain being intermittently filled by the rise and fall of waves crashing against a rocky section of deserted beach.

            The car Oz had left for them was parked where he’d mentioned it would be, at the marina just off the Casino Royale’s grounds, where the SCYTHE had first arrived at the hotel. It was classy but unobtrusive, perfectly at home among the few other vehicles sparkling in the marina’s parking lot.

            The drive was mostly silent, Break listening to the GPS’s prompts and Liam doing what he could to block out the pain coursing through him. Their hands drifted together eventually, and their fingers interlaced on the center console. Break glanced down at their joined hands and a small smile spread on his face. He looked up and caught Liam in the midst of a similar expression. Both looked away hurriedly.

            They arrived at a beach house similar to their car, which subtly betrayed affluence in elegant architecture and well-placed furniture and decorative plants. They let themselves in with the key they found beneath the mat, and instantly made a beeline for the nearest bedroom. The house was one of Oz’s, a safe house equipped not only with weapons but medical supplies, too. Liam sank gratefully to the bedroom floor as Break rushed into the bathroom for a first aid kit. Most of Liam’s wounds were easily treatable, bumps and bruises and shallow cuts, but the bullet wound on Liam’s side and the gash in his thigh required seven stitches apiece. They remained silent while Break numbed the wounded areas, cleaned out the injuries, and put in the stitches.

            It was only when he was finished and looked up at Liam that their exhausted quietude broke.

            “Come on,” Break urged, helping Liam to his feet and walking him towards the bathroom. “Hot shower first, then sleep for a decade.”

            Liam smiled down at him, nodding. “Thank you, Break.”

            Break helped Liam out of the remnants of his dress, then stripped himself to join Liam in the shower. They still remained quiet, lost in their own thoughts and in the sight and proximity of one another. They were too tired and beaten down to do much more than kiss, but traded a few slow-burning embraces nonetheless.

            They stayed in the shower so long the water went cold, then made their relieved way to bed. Sleep came easily and deeply, and retained its hold so long that by the time Break stirred the sun was nearly set. Liam was still asleep, and Break smiled at him. He extricated himself from Liam’s arms, a place he was unsurprised and utterly happy to wake up, and made his way to the kitchen after finding a pair of sweatpants and a plain T shirt in the closet.

            He found the refrigerator in the kitchen surprisingly well stocked, and pulled out some eggs, sausage, and spinach to make himself some scrambled eggs. He was about halfway through the process when Liam emerged from the bedroom, a frantic look in his eyes.

            “Oh, thank God,” Liam said, sagging in relief against the doorframe. “I thought you left...”

            Break shook his head. “Are you hungry?” he asked, nodding to the stove.

            “Starving. Thank you, bonnie,” Liam said, sinking into a chair at the nearby plain kitchen table.

            Break snorted. “ _Bonnie_?! Just how Irish are you?” he asked with a wink and a smile.

            “Oh shut the hell up,” Liam chided gently.

            Break approached with two large plates of eggs and set them on the table. He fetched silverware and a glass of water for them to share and set in to his breakfast. “I can hardly believe it’s over,” he mused.

            Liam looked up at him. “You think it’s over? When I was sent to Monte Carlo it was for information about a group Zai was reportedly working for...Until today I had no idea what it was even called...until you pretended to be a member of it.”

            “The Baskervilles...” Break echoed, taking an uneasy bite of eggs. “Who are they?”

            Liam looked away, out the window at the sea. “I don't know. I don’t even know how Zai was connected to them. They’re hard to track, and almost impossible to trace.”

            “Do you have any leads at all?” Break asked quietly.

            “Not many. Only that they seem to pop up in violent places. Like I said, they move like a shadow, or a specter...I’ve never been able to pin them down,” Liam said, irritation sparking through his voice.

            Break took another bite of eggs. “Liam...neither of us can go back to MI6. Cheryl wants to kill me on a good day, and after blowing 001’s cover I could be executed for treason. And too many people know your face for you to be operational anymore.” Liam turned to him. “I’m just saying...whoever the Baskervilles are they probably know MI6, along with every other governmental law enforcement agency on earth. Maybe...Maybe to take them down we need to be something different.”

            “Vigilante justice,” Liam murmured. “I’ve never been one for it...” He took a bite of his breakfast and sat back in his chair, looking at Break. “But maybe there’s no choice...I did have one lead. One member of the organization whose face I’d seen in pictures, and who I saw with Zai sometimes in the casino...A woman named Charlotte. She’s a wealthy heiress to some family or another, and rumor has it she has a vested interest in illegal diamond trading. If we could isolate her, find out where she’s operating, then it’d bring us one step closer to finding out who the Baskervilles are.”

            Break hummed softly. “Diamond trading...” he mused. “Were you briefed on-“

            “Hunter? Of course. He’s the giant of the illegal gems trade like Jackrabbit’s the ruler of the drug world. You think...maybe Charlotte would be trying to go after him?”

            “I read in the newspaper while I was in Haiti that the world’s first natural purple diamond was found in Brazil just a few weeks ago. It’s in a private collection now, in the hands of the Brazilian government...But he’s loaned it out for the week of the FIA Formula One World Championship race in Buenos Aires this June to be displayed at balls and parties.”

Liam shook his head softly. “...Every diamond trader, legal and illegal, will want to get their hands on it. If we’re going to look for Charlotte that’ll be the place to start.”

Break rocked back in his chair, a smile blooming on his face. “Diamonds, racecars, and a beautiful South American city...Sounds like quite the romantic trip.”

 _“Romantic_?!” Liam spluttered.

Break leaned forward again, taking a deep sip of the water and meeting Liam’s eyes. “Oh don’t act like you’re not smitten. I can see it all over you.”

Liam threw his hands up. “You made a fool out of me at my casino, blew my cover, and forced me into a _dress_ , all within 48 hours of meeting me. I don’t think smitten has anything to do with it!”

Break batted his eyelashes and leaned in. “Oh but Liam, my _eyes_. Remember? Just think how lovely they’ll look sparkling beneath the flashing lights of the city...” He gave a dramatic sigh.

Liam couldn’t help a smile blooming on his face. “Diamonds, racecars, South America in the summer, and the possibility of becoming entangled with a hostile group...Sounds like a pretty damn awful trip to me.” He chuckled under his breath. “But somehow I get the feeling that with you, it’ll become nothing short of an adventure.”

Break straightened in his chair, smiling at Liam. “Then let’s call it a date, sugar.”

Liam rolled his eyes and leaned in, kissing Break fervently for a moment before pulling away. He gave a jokingly put-upon sigh and shook his head. “Fuck you,” he said softly.

“Fuck you, too,” Break returned with the same affection in his voice.

Liam’s smile returned in an instant. He gave Break a soft smile, studying the shades and contours of his face in the morning light.

“What?” Break asked, rolling his eyes.

“Oh nothing...I’m just...Something Raven said.” He sighed softly. “Look at the two of us...Falling in love.”


	16. Teaser for Sequel!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A teaser for the 2nd part of this series

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again everyone! Hope you enjoy this teaser for the sequel to Casino Royale, Diamonds are Forever, set in Buenos Aires during the FIA World Championship race car and motorcycle tournament. This story features LOTS of new characters, as well as all of those you met in part one (minus Zai, who I'm happy to inform you is still dead.) 
> 
> Additionally, thank you so much to those of you who've left comments on this first installment of the series! I've really enjoyed reading your input, and reading your reactions to the events of the story as they unfold. 
> 
> And if this teaser isn't enough for you, check out the video at the link below. It's a fanart montage to get us all hyped for the Elleo that will feature in Diamonds Are Forever. This isn't my video, it was created by tumblr user theangryanimepianist. A few of the quotes in it are spoilers, but only humorous ones that don't give away the story at all, only the fact that Elliot and Leo are dorks and won't say they like each other XD.
> 
> http://theangryanimepianist.tumblr.com/post/143898375518/fan-art-montage-art-from-various-sources
> 
> Enjoy!

            Break leaned back in his chair, swirling the brightly colored cocktail artfully in his hand. He loosened the rich silvery-grey tie around his throat and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “I confess you’ve got me quite enchanted, miss...” he crooned, offering up his glass for another toast.

            The woman seated across from Break was nothing short of flawlessly gorgeous. Her long, dark hair slanted in effortless rivulets down past her shoulders, layered bangs framing a narrow face with a small nose, delicate lips, and round, almost supernaturally large eyes that flickered in alluring shades of violet-brown and hazel-gold. Her high cheekbones were rich with soft blush, and her lips a perfect bow of bright red, while the lids of her large eyes drooped low with dark, lustrous eyeshadow.

            She shifted forward to pluck a glass of pink champagne from the table between them and Break’s eyes were drawn instinctively down past her narrow collarbones and delicate shoulders. The dress she wore was hardly modest, a long, drapey thing in a half-sheer satin that spilled about the seat beside her in royal violet. One side of the skirt was slit almost all the way up the woman’s thigh, and the way she sat with her legs alluringly crossed bared almost the whole of her lithe, muscular leg to Break’s perusing eyes. She gave him a pretty, almost suggestive smile as she raised her glass. “What are we toasting?” she asked, her voice as supple and delicate as the jasmine that trickled through the air around her as she leaned in. Her soft consonants and vowels hinted at an accent, but it was impossible to tell what its origin might be.

            “Why not you?” Break murmured. “I don’t see anything else around here more worthy of a toast than you.”

            The woman smiled and gave a coy laugh, her red lips sliding away from perfectly straight, white teeth. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Mr. Kent,” she chided softly. But still her foot slid out and began to caress Break’s calf, the glittering crystals on the strappy silver heels she wore traveling tantalizingly up and down his leg.

            “My apologies,” he said with a smile. He lifted his glass to his lips, using the cover of taking a sip of his drink to survey the extravagant bar, looking for Liam.

            He spotted him across the room, seated at the bar with a tumbler of whiskey in one hand, his eyes pointedly fixed anywhere but on Break. Break smiled into his drink as he lowered it. Liam had been insistent that they needed to focus, that Hunter or Charlotte’s agents may have already detected their presence, and that their purpose in the swanky restaurant that night was to watch and observe, _not_ to make a scene.

Break – of course – had taken that as a cue to do the exact opposite. They’d only been in Argentina for eight hours, he rationalized, and business was for daylight hours. And so here he found himself, his third sweet, dark green cocktail in his hand and the most beautiful girl in the bar sitting right beside him. The irked glint in Liam’s eyes as he surveyed the bar only made Break’s smile widen.

“What type of business are you in, Mr. Kent?” the woman asked him as she lowered her own glass. Break’s eyes flicked to a thick diamond bracelet she wore, which glittered a gorgeous compliment to the white satin gloves that hid her entire forearms from sight. The sparkle settled on Break’s thigh as the woman’s hand lilted out to rest on his knee.

“Investing,” Break said with a soft smile. “I’m here to get a look at that purple diamond everyone’s talking about.” His eyes lingered slowly up and down the woman’s body, snatching on more diamonds situated at the top of the slit in her dress, around her neck, and in her ears. “But I think I’ve already found it...”

The woman clicked her tongue and gave Break’s knee a playful squeeze. “What have I told you about flattery, Mr. Kent? It’ll get you nowhere,” she teased. She scooted a few inches closer regardless, her hand growing heavier on his thigh. “You know...you look rather a lot like someone I’ve met before.”

Break hummed thoughtfully, scooting a little closer himself. “Oh, is that so? I’m surprised. Not many people look like me.”

The woman furrowed her brow softly. “Yes...He was...oh, let me think...” She raised her free hand to her chin and tapped it thoughtfully, then lowered it into her lap to fiddle with the edge of her skirt. “Ah, that’s right...An ex-MI6 agent, by the name of Xerxes Break.”

Break’s world didn’t even have time to screech to a halt before the woman had pulled out a gun and had it pressed against his stomach. _Oh fuck!_ The thought screamed through his brain and on instinct and training alone inspired movement. He launched himself away from the table, grabbing his cane and taking a swing at the woman. “Liam!” He shouted over his shoulder.

Liam was already on his feet, and had jolted his pistol from the holster hidden under his jacket. He fired up into the ceiling, startling the crowd into a screaming hustle to get out of the bar. The hustle and swarm of brightly-colored evening gowns and dress shirts swept by Break and his attacker, briefly separating them. Break found himself tossed against the bar just a few feet from Liam.

Liam grabbed Break’s collar and hauled him in close, scanning the thick crowd for signs of their attacker. “I want to hear three words from you, Xerxes Break,” he growled down at him.

“There she is!” Break exclaimed. He’d caught sight of the woman climbing up onto a table, unhindered by her tall heels. She planted her feet and raised her handgun, aiming across the bar at Liam and Break and firing two incredibly confident shots in a row.

Liam threw Break aside and dodged out of the way himself, taking a shot as he somersaulted to the floor. It went wide, far wider than their attacker’s shots had. “Not the three words I was looking for!” He yelled to Break as he rolled to his knees, raised his own gun, and took another shot at the woman.

She was already halfway across the bar towards them, running at a full sprint in her heels, her large violet eyes narrowed and lethal.

Break jolted to his knees and swept one leg out in a kick. He caught the woman between the legs and she stumbled. But in a stunning show of grace and agility that stumble became a graceful cartwheel, the skirt of her dress whipping Break in the face as she passed him. She turned in the midst of the trick to lash out at Break with one foot, her pointed heel aimed at his face.

Break caught her leg beneath his arm and twisted her to the floor, pinning her with one hand. He reached for his cane but before he even had it in hand the woman’s gun jerked up to point straight at his chest. Break gave a cry of surprise and somersaulted over her and out of the way of a shot she fired just behind him.

He nearly crashed into Liam, who leaped over him to reach their attacker, who was already on her feet again. “Idiot!” Liam raged as he passed.

The woman raised her gun to fire, breathing hard, the skirt of her dress torn a little. Liam spared no time to consider her before he lifted his leg in a sharp roundhouse kick. His longer reach and strong legs worked in his favor, and his kick connected soundly with her side. Break was already in position and when the woman stumbled he smacked his cane hard across the backs of her knees, dropping her. Liam snapped out another kick, which disarmed the woman, sending her gun skittering across the floor.

Liam and Break stood over her, Break behind her with his sword right to the back of her neck and Liam in front of her, a pistol pointed at her head. Liam swallowed, looking down at their attacker with his eyes full of battle-ready fire. “Who do you work for?” he asked lowly.

The woman pursed her pretty lips and batted her still perfectly made-up eyelashes. “Oh...I don’t think I can tell you that, honey...it’s a secret.”

Liam cocked his gun to fire. “Who. Do. You. Work. For?” he repeated more sternly.

The woman gave a small, bored sigh and shook her head. “You won’t shoot me,” she said coyly.

Liam pressed his gun closer to her temple. “Try me.”

The woman’s smile turned sticky sweet. “If you waste time killing me you won’t have time to get out of here before the bomb goes off,” she said, her eyes traveling to something on the floor.

Liam and Break looked down as one and caught sight of the large diamond applique that had once been seated at the top of the slit in the woman’s skirt. It sat on the floor now, the diamond in the center winking bright red. As they watched the light went from blinking to solid red and the device let out a little beep.

“Fuck!” Liam shouted. He jumped away from the woman, snatching Break and hauling him towards the door. They tore out onto the street and tumbled across it, tearing away from the explosion site. They reached a car parked on the street and Liam threw Break behind it and ducked himself, just in time to hear the bomb go off, shattering the restaurant’s windows, jettisoning debris in all directions, and setting off car alarms up and down the street.

The woman emerged in the residual smoke and fire, still sauntering down the street in her heels, her makeup impeccable and her hair utterly flawless. She reached beneath her skirt and pulled out a cheap cellphone, which she dialed a number on and then lifted to her ear.

Liam held his breath and clapped a hand over Break’s mouth as the woman approached, unaware of their proximity.

The woman’s smile widened a little as her call connected. “You were right about those agents. Already here.” She paused, waiting for a reply.

Liam and Break gave twin inhales as she spoke. Her voice was lower now, and distinctly more thickly accented. “She’s a...?” Break whispered.

Liam shushed him, listening to the conversation.

“...No, I can take them.” She reached the end of the street and stepped out in front of a beautiful black motorcycle. Holding the phone against her shoulder she popped open the compartment on the motorcycle’s seat and removed a black racing helmet. “Don’t worry. The deal’s still on. They don’t have the diamond either.” She slid onto the motorcycle’s seat and pulled something else from an unseen pocket beneath her skirt. It was a pair of thick, perfectly round glasses. She put the phone on speaker and pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail, securing it with her diamond bracelet. “Yeah, but unfortunately that fancy restaurant you love near the city center paid the price. I think they got away, but they won’t next time.” She pulled the helmet over her head, then popped open the visor and slipped on the glasses. The man on the other end of the line said something as she slid onto the motorcycle’s seat and inserted the key, kicking out the kickstand with ease even in her heels and revving the bike to get the engine started.

She scanned the street one more time, her eyes even larger behind her glasses. She lifted the phone one more time. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s gone wrong yet that we can’t handle....I’ll be home soon, Elliot.”

She hung up the phone, dropped it into the street in front of her motorcycle, and sped off down the street, running it over with a sound crunch as she did.

She was out of sight in less than a second, speeding around a corner, the satin of her skirt fluttering behind her.

Break turned to look at Liam. “Elliot...? So she...or...he was...?”

Liam took a seep breath, his eyes narrowed and loathsome as he followed the woman’s path. “Leo,” he growled.


End file.
